Vale Ad Aeternum
by MornieGalad Baggins
Summary: The 25th annual Hunger Games: Quarter Quell SYOT. - Quarter quell with a twist: two rounds of reapings. This story follows To Die But Once, the 18th annual Hunger Games, but that one's not necessary to understand this one. In the seven years between the Careers have gotten stronger and the stakes have gotten higher. Now, with 48 tributes, many unprepared, what will happen?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Hunger Games.

 **Ad Aeternum**

Prologue: Part of the story

 **Viggo Helden – District 4 victor of the 24** **th** **annual Hunger Games.**

– **Victory Tour for 24** **th** **Hunger Games.**

 **Location – District One.**

District one. The last district. Viggo was tired of the attention, of the thunderous crowds, some of whom hated him, but would never say it others that loved him and were exuberant with their affections. He was tired of it all. He wanted nothing more than to have a simple afternoon to himself beside the water, but he couldn't say that, not to anyone.

Excelcia was standing beside him, beaming. She was proud of him, more proud than his mother would ever be. She grasped his hand, urging him onto the stage again. She wouldn't understand, clearly wasn't thinking twice about the significance of this district.

Viggo sighed and then put on his brave face. Ephemora was dead; there was nothing he could do to change that, really nothing he could ever have done to prevent it, since it had been at her own hand that her life had ended. So he might as well forget it.

He breathed and gave his speech to cheering fans. District one was a career district, much like his own and, though they were rivals, their pride that a Career had won, especially with the shame she had brought them.

On the stage beside him stood District One's victors, Fedelmid Cheyenne, the most recent victor who won the 19th games, Khalani Averick and Blake Mahner. He glanced over at them, only briefly as he spoke of Ephemora.

"Though I only knew her for a few short days, Ephemora was brave. She created the alliance that bonded Kalvin and I and her memory kept us going through the difficult days in the psych ward. I owe my presence here to her and Kalvin, who stayed with me until the final moments of the Games. Let their memory burn ever bright as we are united in their sacrifice. Panem today, Panem forever," he concluded in the traditional way Excelcia had taught him. As he turned, his gaze fell upon his fellow victors. Fedelmid seemed to be struggling. Ephemora had been his tribute, after all. Khalani stood beside him, squeezing his hand tightly, so tightly it was turning white. Blake, though, Blake simply glared.

"This isn't going to be good," Blake whispered to Khalani in an accusatory tone as Viggo left the stage. "Mark my words, this is the year we pay dearly. And the worst part is it's our own fault."

 **Iris Corolin – District 3**

"Is everything prepared?" Iris asked, fluttering about the room. It wasn't easy to plan a surprise when all eyes in Panem were focused on you, but somehow she, Leunam and Riker had managed to do it.

"Stop fretting. I promise it'll work," the younger victor assured her. Iris took a step back as Riker took her hands in her own. "You and Leunam are going to give the Capitol something to rejoice in and they'll forget everything. It's for all of our good."

Iris knew it was. She didn't want to step on Viggo's toes and upstage him, but the nation didn't need to remember the stigma of the last games, the suicide of district one's tribute after she had volunteered, how so many tributes had been broken in the psych ward. Above all, Brutus Laertes and President Gaius Emmanuel didn't need to be reminded. With the first quarter quell coming up, it would help to sooth their memories, seeing the first marriage of two victors.

It had always been what she wanted, of course, but with Riker's victory two years ago it had given them the opportunity. She wouldn't have left mentoring in order to have a family, not until one of them had a replacement. Now Riker, with her brilliant attitude and a year of mentoring under her belt was ready. Despite all odds, she had triumphed in her Games and had been an exceptional mentor last year. Yes, it was time.

 **Brutus Leartes – Head Gamemaker**

How could he make people forget? Viggo was leaving District One, quickly bound for the Capitol and still the people saw him as the boy who had allied with the girl who had commit suicide. He was a victor, yes, a strong victor in his own right when all of the events of the Games were taken into consideration, but his alliance was all that people seemed to remember.

Maybe that wouldn't have been so bad if it didn't bring back memories of just seven years before, memories of propaganda that only a select few knew to be false. With three supposed suicides and one suicide attempt connected with the Games victors or competitors. He didn't want the Games to be connected with despair, not when they were supposed to be a symbol of what bound the nation together, a spectacle of hope.

"Brutus," Puck's voice summoned him. She was quite the punctual assistant. "We have instructions for the quarter quell."

"Already?" Brutus questioned. "I didn't think we were announcing those until –"

"At the victory feast," Puck corrected him. Brutus straightened up, but then saw the envelope bore the presidential seal. He opened it gingerly. "I suppose we have to give them time to prepare."

" _Your part of the story will go on."_

 **Tribute submissions for Ad Aeternum are now open. This is not a first come first serve. Submissions will remain open until 12/31 or until otherwise notified. For tribute form please see my profile page. I need 48 tributes total, 24 females 24 males. 24 voted in by their districts and 24 reaped.**


	2. To death

Author's Note: I am still accepting tributes. Right now I have 11 total. It's about an even split between girls and guys and the first round and second round. While I still need 48 tributes total places that could use some more attention:

Outer districts. Pretty much anything besides 4, 2 and 1. I've gotten a lot of Career tributes from 4 in particular. Everywhere else needs some attention.

Young ones: my youngest 2 submissions are 14 years old.

Tributes with rebel inclinations / leanings / relatives etc. Though the Games have been going on for 25 years and I don't expect an onslaught of rebels, I would expect a couple, especially in the second round. (reapings) Something to bear in mind is that the district one female tribute in the 24th hunger Games commit suicide rather than enter the arena.

Also, I will be extending the deadline tentatively until **January 31th** , subject to change if I get like 70 tributes by the end of December. Please submit via the tribute form on my profile and if you have questions ask. I don't bite.

Disclaimer: I still do not own the Hunger Games!

Prologue Part 2 - Till death

 **Isidore Thorne – District 12 Mentor**

Isidore stood near the wall, not in a standoffish sort of way. He was simply observing, the way he always had, analyzing everyone strategically before he made his move. The celebrations had already begun in the Capitol of course; they never stood on ceremony, awaiting the victor for his own tour, especially not this year when there was so much more going on. Between the preparations for the wedding and the anticipation over the quarter quell everyone was bustling about. No one had yet turned their attention to District Twelve's new mentor.

Not that Isidore was surprised. After all, it had never been a position of much significance. Years ago when Aphrodite had taken the position she had brought spunk to it, a determination from within her, driven by her own motives for glory. She had failed to get a victor that year and then had been immediately moved to District five, a district of much more prominence, even if they had yet to secure a victor. Since then District Twelve had fallen back into anonymity alongside the victorless district 11. Isidore was content with that; after all, that had been the precise reason he had requested District 12.

"Hector," Brutus came up behind him, but Isidore cut him off.

"Don't call me that. I don't want everyone to be terrified of me," Isidore said in a low voice, masking his strictness with a placating smile. He could tell even Brutus was cringing at the idea of having someone of his own previous experience as district twelve's mentor. The last thing he wanted, though, was to terrify all of his potential allies. That wouldn't do him or his tributes any good. To that end, he's chosen to leave his old name behind and along with it any ties to his past that would alienate him from his fellow mentors.

"What can I do for you?" Isidore smiled again, doing his best to make Brutus at ease.

"I need your advice," Brutus's voice dropped low too. "The President is demanding I announce the quarter quell tonight."

"An interesting decision," Isidore replied. He studied Brutus, whose expression was carefully guarded. "Why come to me with this?"

"Because, I believe as President Emmanuel's hand-picked successor for district twelve it would be appropriate for you to make the announcement. He has told you, hasn't he?"

"No, I haven't heard a word, only that it is supposed to be a true spectacle," Isidore stroked Brutus's ego. It was certainly worth his while to keep the Gamemaker in the dark as to all what he did and did not know as a man who had the president's ear. Brutus eyed him with some skepticism and then handed him an envelope.

"Use your discretion," Brutus said and then dissolved into the crowd.

 **Haspereek Cloven – District Nine Mentor**

The fanfare heralded Viggo's arrival and the excitement radiated through the crowd. One look at the most recent victor, though and Haspereek could tell he needed some distraction and fast. When the tour had passed through District Nine, very early on, Mags had whispered to Haspereek that Viggo was already tiring of the attention. She wouldn't be more specific, but from the look on the boy's face, his lips pursed and his clenched fists, Haspereek could tell it was all he could do to keep from exploding. The smile he wore was obviously forced.

There would be distraction soon enough, Haspereek knew, thanking Leunam and Iris for their decision to wed.

"Are they almost ready?" Haspereek asked, catching Riker's eye. The girl smirked.

"Please, they've been ready for years. Why? Do you not want to see Viggo lop someone's head off? I think it might be therapeutic for him." Haspereek sighed. So it was that obvious.

"Relax," Riker laughed, but behind the laughter Haspereek suspected Riker was a bit on edge too. "I'll make sure Leunam's set."

 **Leunam Valeres – District Three Victor.**

It certainly wasn't the wedding ceremony he had had in mind. If Leunam had had his way, he and Iris would have been wed in the company of their friends and family in District three. But the situation had demanded it and, as Iris continued to remind him, their family would see the wedding live. The entire tour, and by extension, their wedding would be public viewing, if not mandatory.

Beside him, helping him with the final preparations, including a bow tie which he never could quite seem to secure correctly was Jonas Tanner.

"Move your finger," Jonas instructed as the two of them fidgeted with the bow.

"If I move it that part of the bow will never stay secure. It'll turn into a curlicue or something," Leunam argued, leaving his finger firmly in place as Jonas tugged at it.

"Please confide in me. I'm the one who can visually perceive what we're attempting." Leunam sighed as he reluctantly inched his finger to the side, still keeping hold of the ribbon. Jonas gave him a frustrated look, but continued to fix the difficult bow.

In the years since Jonas's victory he and the younger mentor had certainly bonded, but that was without the added stress of pomp and circumstance and uncertainty. Today it was all that he could do to keep from strangling the young man. If they had the ceremony in District Three he could have appointed his laid back, quiet brother as the man of honor without having to worry about all eyes in Panem being on him. This wasn't district three, though, and, try as they did, Leunam and Iris simply couldn't think of a best man who would be more comfortable in the spotlight and had been a friend to them than Jonas had. At least not one who hadn't already said no to them.

Unwelcomed, Riker Deign's face popped into the room.

"Goodness, are you two ready yet?" With that Leunam's bowtie drooped unceremoniously into a very undistinguished curlicue hanging from his neck by one side and Riker couldn't help but burst out laughing. "Just leave the tie already. Iris and the crowds are getting so impatient I think Brutus might have threatened to announce the quarter quell before the ceremony."

"Ultimately whether the proclamation is in advance or subsequently is of little import," Jonas interjected while taking hold of the bowtie problem once more. "It will take place."

"And part of our job is to distract from that you numbskull!" Riker retorted, walloping Jonas over the head with one of the shoes Leunam had rejected.

"Ow!" Jonas exclaimed. "Do take care to remember whose side you're on!" Riker stared him down. "Excelcia," Jonas muttered under his breath as he secured the bowtie in the correct shape. Leunam glanced over at Riker, who was gracefully pretending she hadn't heard Jonas's last comment.

"Congratulations. You will go down in history as the man who tied a bowtie! Can you please get out here?"

"How's my hair?" Leunam jibed, half nervous, half simply wanting to irk Riker just a tad more. He'd never seen her so tense, not even in the Games. One would have thought she was the bride, not Iris.

"Looks wonderful. Now let's get you married," Riker grinned as she darted back to the courtyard entrance where Iris waited. There was a fanfare and they were off.

All eyes turned to the front of the room. Viggo, who was already there, stepped aside gratefully and returned to anonymity as streamers adorned the stage in white. Leunam processed up to the altar, all previous worries forgotten. Jonas took his place, silently, behind him. Riker, dressed in a becoming dark blue dress and still smirking ear to ear took her place parallel to Jonas. Leunam could have sworn he saw her stick her tongue out at him from the corner of his eye and he smirked in approval at her. Then the wedding march began and a flurry of doves took flight as the aisle cleared for Iris.

In that moment, nothing else mattered. Not Viggo turning beat red as one of the pushy Capitolites tried to get his attention, not Jonas and Riker, now standing behind them. Not any of the other mentors or the upcoming games. This was a new beginning for them, a way for them, at least one of them, to leave the Games behind and start a family. At last.

The vows came easily. He and Iris had long known they were the only two people in the world for each other. After their Games, they had so long had a shared understanding. Now the vows just legally recognized that. And their kiss sealed it. It had begun.

 **Riker Deign – District 3 Mentor**

It had begun. Riker smiled almost as widely as the bride and groom as her two friends joined their lives. They deserved it, perhaps more than anyone. Winning back to back games nearly twenty years ago, all they had wanted after the Games was to find consolation in each other's arms. But, being the logical pair, they had made a pact; they hadn't allowed themselves to think of their own lives until it was certain District Three would have an undistracted, unattached mentor when one of them needed to be home with the children. Their mentorship of Riker and her subsequent victory had made that possible. Riker only hoped she would do them both proud this year.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Jonas had gotten his signal and was now preparing his toast. "Though our events of tonight are extremely varied, I would make the irrefutable thesis that this is the most important event of them all. In its singularity we have witnessed the love of not only two humans, two soulmates, but two victors, the first union of its kind that Panem has ever seen. Though I have only known them for six years, not the lifetime they have spent together, it is the fellowship that binds Leunam and Iris that has kept us mentors united. They have leant their strength in times of difficulty, their laughter in times when it was necessary and in times when levity was, as they say, the best medicine. And now it is our pleasure to unite in a time of joy with them as they pledge their eternal love." Jonas paused, his glass raised to the couple. "I have no doubt this amalgamation will inspire multitudes, here in the Capitol, in district three and all across Panem. These two are sincerely the best of us, the sum of our aspirations. So Leunam, Iris, congratulations and may your path, now integrated together, be illuminated lustrously. To the bride and groom!" The courtyard echoed the toast as Iris and Leunam kissed to the clinking of glasses.

Now it was her turn.

"Well, that'll be hard to follow," Riker smirked, glancing snarkily at Jonas. "For those of you who don't know me, I'm Riker Deign, Leunam and Iris's protégé." The got the laugh she wanted at that. Of course there wasn't anyone in the Capitol who didn't know her, no one in Panem who didn't recognize her face as the victor of the 23rd Hunger Games, but it was always good manners to introduce yourself in case there was someone who _was_ drunk enough that they forgot. "I am so grateful and blessed to know Leunam and Iris. Though Iris was officially my mentor in the 23rd Games, they have always worked best as a team. Their strengths and weaknesses play of each other so well, and for that, I owe them everything. I owe them my life and the lives of any tributes I bring home in the future. Iris told me something before I went into the games, something I'll always remember. It seems simple, but today it's come back. She told me to be grateful for every breath, every moment, and reminded me to not stop looking for the good even when things looked dismal. Well, we don't have to look very far today. Iris, you are the best mentor, best woman and best friend I could ask for and you and Leunam deserve every moment of happiness today and in the years to come. To the bride and groom!" The room echoed again and the toasts were concluded.

Riker smiled. Nothing could spoil this day for two of the people she loved most. She would see to that.

 **Esthelrir Grey – District 11 Mentor.**

It had begun. Esthelrir smiled widely from his place beside Aeden Sanderling. Yet in his smile there was a hint of trepidation, especially as he kept his eye on District Twelve's new mentor.

He had mixed in with all of the other mentors after the ceremony, rubbing elbows and smiling. Esthelrir was utterly unaccustomed to seeing him in this light. The last time he'd seen this man had been nearly twenty five years ago. That man, Hector Benetikt had been a great deal of the reason the Capitol had won the war.

And now he was in district twelve.

No, Esthelrir corrected himself. He was at the stage. While Esthelrir had been trying to discern his motives, trying to figure out why this man of all people would have been put in District Twelve, Hector had taken charge of the ceremony.

"Ladies and gentlemen. Forgive the interruption. Unlike our esteemed Riker, I feel I do need to introduce myself. I am Isidore Thorne."

Esthelrir paused, scanning the crowd to see if anyone else had been taken aback. No. Was it only he who knew this man from old? This man, who had now assumed a different name. Esthelrir eyed Hector, or Isidore, with great suspicion. Clearly he had his reasons for using an alias now. He'd always worked behind the scenes, so he'd never been in full view of the Capitolite audience when he had been a member of the war effort. But what was he up to and why was _he_ on the stage.

"Before we continue, I want to extend my sincerest congratulations to both Leunam and Iris and our newest Victor, Viggo Helden of District Four. Also the President and the Head Gamemaker, Brutus Laertes have requested that, as the newest mentor, I announce the quarter quell." Isidore, if that was what he was calling himself now, paused and Esthelrir drummed his fingers on the table, fearing what was to come. If Brutus was too cowardly to come forth and announce the quarter quell himself, it had to be some truly terrible affair indeed.

"As you know, when the Hunger Games were established, every 25 years there was to be a quarter quell, an extra special Games. This year each district will select its own tributes. The same age restrictions apply, but the district members must vote and decide upon a male and female tribute. These votes may be influenced by campaigns until the voting, which will be conducted on the usual reaping day."

A hush went over the crowd.

"Come on, everyone. It's not that bad," Riker Deign's voice raised over the crowd. "At least now we can pick who has the best chance, just for one year. It's merciful, even." She was stretching, Esthelrir could tell, desparate to turn everyone's thoughts away from the horrors of the Games. How could anyone say the Games were merciful, especially someone who had volunteered so her own sister wouldn't have to enter them. "Now, let's get back to the wedding!" Riker shouted out loudly, raising her glass, probably trying to fool the crowd into thinking she was drunker than she was. "These two love birds have waited almost twenty years to celebrate their marriage. Now, let's not make them wait another minute."

Esthelrir sighed, surveying the remaining mentors as they struggled to forget what they'd been told. He had no doubt some, especially the budding career districts, would agree. Excelcia's unmistakable grin a few tables away clearly conveyed her feelings. Jonas, no doubt agreed with Riker, that it was logical. But Esthelrir couldn't help but feeling that this was only the beginning.

" _To have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and health, until death do us part."_


	3. Chapter 3 - Prologue Part 3 Choices

_**Author's Note: Okay, guys, I still need tributes. I have less than half of what I need. If you're working on one and struggling to meet the deadline PM me and let me know so I can make an exception. Otherwise, please get all tributes in by January 31**_ _ **st**_ _ **at midnight Central time. (Okay technically, yes, February 1**_ _ **st**_ _ **) If I don't get 48 I can't move forward.**_

 _ **If you've already submitted, I thank you. If you've submitted more than one, feel free to submit extras. Depending on final numbers I may accept up to 2 per submitter, but am sincerely hoping to not do more than that. If you know people who haven't submitted, please let them know.**_

 _ **If you have questions, concerns, comments, frustrations, or amusing comments, PM me. I don't bite.**_

 _ **Disclaimer: I still do not own the Hunger Games**_

 **Prologue Part Three: Choices**

 **Epucka Karam – Assistant to Brutus Laertes**

It was silly to worry, at least that's what Puck told herself. Brutus had barely come to his office the last week, had seemed distracted at work in the days before, but she was certain it was nothing. After all, they had time to spare, so why shouldn't he take some time off before the crunch time of the Hunger Games. At least, that was what she told herself, what her co-workers told her.

Her hunch told her they were dead wrong.

That same hunch led her out of the office early on Friday afternoon. It was just a regular spring day in the Capitol with all of the hustle and bustle, all of the comings and goings. Puck nodded to the people she knew on the street, all together uncertain of where she was going.

She knew she'd heard Brutus mention that the Salamander was his favorite pub. It was in one of the artsier sections of the Capitol, a place she would have never ventured on her own, not now that she was an aspiring professional. She wanted to maintain her professional elusiveness, especially with the paparazzi longing for any hints of the upcoming quarter quell. Even now she traveled with her face masked.

She found the Salamander. It was so early in the day the bar was scarcely populated. She spotted Brutus immediately, in the corner with a red head.

She almost turned out when she saw him, but her concern was real. In fact, she had several concerns in regards to the quell, not the least of which had to deal with a quarter of the districts. There were several details to be ironed out and she feared with Brutus's scarcity some would be overlooked.

Just one question, she told herself. The rest can wait, but we have to continue to pluck at this little by little. Swallowing her pride and her terror of being spotted, she plodded onwards towards the back table.

"Excuse me," she said sweetly and Brutus glanced up at her. He was about to ask if he could help her then recognition dawned on him.

"What are you doing here?" he groaned.

"I do apologize for intruding, but there are some matters that we need to discuss."

"Monday," Brutus promised her, fighting to turn his attention back to the girl beside him.

"It may not be able to wait," Puck pressed.

"What is so urgent it can't wait until Monday?" Brutus demanded. "You can talk in front of her," he added, giving her permission to speak her mind. She glanced around the bar and confirmed it was empty aside from the barkeep, the redhead and Brutus.

"Iris and Leunam had some concerns." Brutus rolled his eyes.

"Whatever it is, tell them yes. They have carte blanche to do whatever they want."

"But sir you don't even know the question."

"I trust your discretion, Epucka and theirs. Now if you'll excuse me. . ."

"Excelcia also expressed some concerns," Puck stood her ground. Brutus's face fell.

"Clear out," he said to the girl, resigning himself to th conversation. "What is it?" he asked after the redhead left. He leaned towards Epucka, studying her intently. Was that fear she saw behind the older man's eyes?

"It only concerns Viggo and Riker." Epucka continued. "They're both still of reaping age, so they can't vote in the campaigns. But can they be selected as tributes again?" The look on Brutus's face confirmed that they absolutely needed to iron out some details.

 **Excelcia Mercilus – District Four**

"Move your feet!" Excelcia hollered as she spurred with the two trainees across from her. She motioned for the third, standing apart to join in the fray, but she hesitated, just as Excelcia knew she would. Keeping her calm, Excelcia easily deflected the boy's attack, though he was taller and faster. In a moment she had him on his back, unarmed and then had a sword pointed at his partner's chest.

"Lydia, why didn't you join in?" Excelcia demanded, though she already knew the answer. "Because of you both of your friends are now dead."

"I thought I would do more harm than good," the girl stated. There was fear in her eyes, just as there almost always was when she singled out a tribute. They were all intimidated by her, all of them were.

"Maybe you would have, but now that you stand by that decision . . ." Excelcia lead. The girl caught on quickly, but not quickly enough. She raised her guard just as Excelcia thrust what would have been a killing blow if they had been using real swords.

"Now you are dead too," Excelcia said in a cold tone of voice. "That's enough for today. We'll split the three of you up tomorrow." They scampered off quickly, grateful to be out of Excelcia's watchful eye.

That was why they alternated which trainees they worked with. The first couple of years she hadn't had the privilege of a fellow trainer, so all of her trainees had been under her supervision at all times. That was how she had tutored Aufelion and, how he, in turn, had developed to her equal.

Perhaps that was why the trainees felt more comfortable with him, someone who had risen through the ranks, someone like them. They were always more at ease when it was him sparring with him. Even Viggo, for all of his familiarity with Excelcia through her friendship with his mother, had been more comfortable fighting with Aufelion. His brother, on the other hand, he had nearly taken Excelcia out a couple of times. He had never been one to be intimidated.

But Viggo, Excelcia reflected. What was he up to now? He himself was sparring with a group of three in the corner of the training center. It almost looked like a dance, it was so swift, so coordinated. All three, some of her best fighters, were working together, trying to take Viggo down, but he was fending off all of them. Excelcia beamed in pride. This was why he had won the Games.

"He's almost as good as Sean, isn't he?" Aufelion commented, dashing over to Excelcia's side. He too had finished up for the day.

"He's better. Sean didn't make it out."

"That doesn't mean Viggo's better," Aufelion stated in the tone of voice that made Excelcia certain he was beating around the bush. He wanted her to go fishing for his meaning.

"You know I detest when you do that," she growled, staring Aufelion down.

"Remind me of the rules for this quell," Aufelion pried as one of the trainees, finally tiring, dropped their guard.

"No!" Viggo snapped, slashing at the air. "This is a test of endurance as well as strength. You've got to make it through. Don't let your allies down."

"He's going to make an exceptional trainer," Excelcia stated. "He gets to the point."

"So am I," Aufelion cornered her and his glare matched hers.

"The tributes are voted in by their districts. Anyone who is eligible for the reapings can campaign. On Reaping day there will be a vote and that's it."

"Does anyone who is eligible include victors of reaping age?" Aufelion asked, his voice low and earnest.

"God no," Excelcia gasped, finally catching Aufelion's drift. "He wouldn't. There are so many other trainees who are suited for the task. He's already proven his worth. He won!"

"I know. I know," Aufelion assured her in whispers. "But you don't know what it's like for him." He glanced over his shoulder just to make sure Viggo was still occupied.

"His mother says he's recovered fine. He just gets angry," Excelcia argued.

"I'm sure that's exactly what she says," Aufelion retorted. "But his mother's the problem." Aufelion turned as though he was going to leave it at that. "You know what I overheard her saying. She said she wished that Sean and Viggo had switched places. She wished Viggo to had died so Sean could have lived. The games didn't drive Viggo crazy, they drove his mother crazy."

"Did he tell you this?" Excelcia demanded.

"No. His father did. Viggo hasn't said a word about it." Aufelion paused again. "Just make sure he doesn't go back in." Aufelion whispered. "For all of our sakes."

 **Steric Tarthan – District 10 Mentor**

"This quarter quell is stupid," Steric said for the millionth time since it was announced. No one was really listening to her anymore, not her three friends who were in a drunken stupor around her, not the bartender and certainly not any of District Ten's regular citizens.

"Seriously. They expect people to take time to campaign for votes. As if it's a good thing. Two and Four, okay, maybe with the psych jobs they have there, but anywhere else forget it. I swear, if I see anyone campaigning here I'll ship them to the loony bin!"

The odd part was she was still sober. It was around nine in the morning, but the barkeep had stayed open for her. Hung over, certainly, but she was sober, unlike her three indisposed friends.

"I still can't believe I pulled an all-nighter, Clark," Steric exclaimed. "What is it, Saturday?"

"Sunday," Clark corrected her.

"Well, these three are late for work. I think they've got the Sunday shift. Who am I to wake them, though? The world's professional killer, that's who." Steric laughed. She considered waking them for a moment, but apparently decided against it. "I'm off home." She tipped Clark generously, then took to the streets towards the victor's village.

"Pardon me, miss!" an insistent voice interrupted her as she made her way home. Steric paused. No one ever called her miss. Heck, few enough people ever talked to her she wasn't sure the voice belonged to.

Sure enough, though when she stopped she felt a firm hand on her shoulder. She turned to see a youth nearly her height with a wide grin.

"You're Steric Tarthan!" He exclaimed. "I didn't think I'd get so lucky. I'm Felix Graham and I'm campaigning for the Hunger Games."

Steric burst out laughing convinced she'd misheard or was just awaking from a dream.

"Have I said something funny?" the boy asked.

"I'm sorry, I must have heard you say you were campaigning for the Hunger Games."

"You heard right," the boy insisted and the earnest in his voice convinced Steric she was, in fact, not dreaming. She bit her lip, forced herself to stop laughing and looked him in the eye to size him up a bit.

He looked to be about as old as she had been when she volunteered, just around 18. He was thin, but not scrawny and looked to be in good shape. He was certainly outspoken.

Steric sighed. She was thinking the way she always had to for a month of the year; sizing up the competition and her own tributes. She did whatever she could to keep from making that her way of life.

"Why?" Steric asked simply. The boy looked at her, completely baffled.

"Well, someone has to. They need a boy and a girl and this year I'm campaigning."

"No." Steric replied. "That's not a reason."

"But the Capitol said we're to campaign and there will be a vote."

"You're half right. There will be a vote. But the vote is only to take the place of the reapings. It's not a popularity contest, not something you want, you understand. Because if you win the campaign, if you get the most votes, which, I bet you will since you're the only brute I've seen crazy enough to do this, then you get to go die. Yes, die. Even if you win you die, because you leave so much of yourself in there you're never the same person again. And only one of those campaigners, all the boys and girls in all the districts, who thought they wanted this, only one of them comes out. So I'm asking you again. Why you? Why do you want to be that person?"

The boy was silent, his dark eyes searching Steric's face for an answer. She really doubted he would find it there, but she had all of the time in the world. If it would save his life he was more than welcome to try.

As his silence drew on Steric felt the need to pry, the need to understand this person who stood before her, still with a choice.

"How old are you, Felix?"

"Eighteen," he answered. Good, a simple enough question. Now she could build from there.

"Your last year that you could be reaped," Steric observed. "Now tell me, Felix. Do you have brothers or sisters, anyone that you're worried might end up in the arena?"

"No, ma'am. I'm an only child." His eyes followed her still. He was grasping what she was saying, but hadn't arrived at the point yet, the point she believed was fairly obvious.

"Is there any reason you should be sent into the arena?"

"I can handle it."

"No!" Steric declared and the boy stepped back at her intensity. "No, the answer to that is no. There is no reason you should be sent into the arena. I will not vote for you for several reasons. The first being you don't have the foggiest idea what you're getting into and once you do you will not want to be there. Believe me. Second, you're the only child your parents have. All of their hopes and dreams rest on you. You can't ask me to help in taking that away from them. And yes, you're right, because of the way our government is set up, someone has to go. No one deserves to, but two people have to. I'm going to do my best to make sure my vote isn't the final say, that whoever's name I write does not end up in there."

Steric, assuming she had made her point and considering the conversation over turned her back on the boy with a smile. His campaign would end and there would be peace in District ten at least for a little while longer.

"But you did it," Felix challenged her and she paused. "You volunteered your last year. You took someone' s place, risked your life for hers. Can you tell me why? Was your reason any better than mine?"

Still smiling, Steric turned back to the boy. She hadn't driven her point home, apparently, but this time she would.

"I'm no role model and I'm no hero," Steric began. "You're right, I volunteered for a girl who wouldn't have lasted a day in the Games because I had a better chance. I saw it as justice and I got lucky. I had what it takes to kill, to make it out, to put my life above everyone else's. I may have valued the life of the girl I saved, but what about the girls I killed, the children I killed? And on top of that, what about the children I continue killing? I've had to help many of them who didn't have a chance. Because I took on that burden for that one girl, I've failed at helping several. Do you remember the girl in the 18th games?" Steric cornered him and the boy shook his head. "Of course you wouldn't. She died the first day. She was the very first kill. She was terrified of everything and I do mean everything. She never stood a chance and yet I had to help her. Then there are those who might make it through, but would need a miracle. The hopeless ones are almost better because when there is hope it hurts more when hope is extinguished. So don't you tell me you're prepared to kill and be killed because of all of the tributes I have mentored or seen you would be the first. If it's true, don't tell me, show me. Strike me down right here." Steric held out the knife she always carried on her person.

"You're not serious."

"I dare you," she whispered. "Strike me down. Or at least give it your best shot. I won't go down easy, but the closest peacekeepers are passed out at the bar and they know me well. They'll confirm your story, that I was asking for it."

The boy took the knife and for a moment Steric thought he might make a move. She smirked and braced for whatever was to come.

Instead of a blow, the words she had been waiting for came.

"I won't campaign anymore," the boy said, handing the knife back to her.

"Make sure you tell your parents that," Steric told him. "They'll be relieved. Now run along home."

Steric watched as the boy turned around, wondering if she had just saved his life.

 **Aeden Sanderling – District 7**

He wouldn't do it, Aeden thought again as he glanced up at the calendar on his wall. The days until reaping day had been passing quickly, far too quickly for him. The closer it came, the more difficult it became to even get out of bed, to even think about anything else.

They were going to force him to choose, to write someone's name, to nominate someone for death.

He sighed again, pushing his increasingly long hair back again and trying to escape. But there was no escape, not here in his house, not into the vast abyss of his past, nor into his imagination. Everywhere he looked he saw the desperation in his district, in his country.

Jonas had told him this was justice, that they could pick an equipped tribute, maybe even someone who would campaign. Jonas, undoubtedly, even believed it. That was part of the reason Aeden had secluded himself in his house; Jonas couldn't preach to him there.

No, this was best, hiding here in the shadows, in the darkness, until the terrible day came. At least here he only had himself as a judge, only his own mind could condemn him.

He lay back again, his eyes closed, trying to lose himself in thought. At last sleep overtook him and his mind was cleared, if only for a little longer.


	4. Restless dreams - District One

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games. Thank you to _SnowKat15_ for Beatrix and Ellis Moquette, to _LokiThisisMadness_ for Cian Odell, and anonymous-pitcher-plant for Anika Rhodes

District One Reapings: Restless Dreams

 **Beatrix Moquette: District One Campaigner Age 18**

"Come on!" Beatrix called to her brother, eager to get to the square.

"I'm coming. I'm coming!" Ellis insisted, trailing behind her. Their parents beamed behind them as they dashed out into the bright sunlight. Beatrix couldn't wait to get to the Reapings! This year more than any other she was flustered with anticipation.

It was the moment of truth. She had worked for this moment ever since the announcement of the quarter quell. It was true, she wasn't the only one who had campaigned; she had some pretty fierce competition, but she could only hope she had pulled it off. Now it was up to her district, to the adults who had finished voting just hours ago. Her fate was in their hands.

They lined up as they usually did, as though it were an ordinary reaping. Then again, nothing in District one had been normal, not in the years since the training academy had started up. And certainly not since last year. Beatrix knew that if she were selected, she would have been a lot stronger than the girl last year, the girl who had given up even before the fight began. Beatrix knew undoubtedly she could do it.

"You'll do great," Ellis said goodbye to her as the boys separated from the girls. He smiled and she grinned back, a little nervous. What if she wasn't selected? It would be her last chance and all the faith her family had in her, her brother had in her, would be for naught. She waved at him one last time as he disappeared into the crowd. At least he knew he wouldn't have anything to worry about. With all of the better options, there was no way a twelve year old child who showed little interest in Career training would be voted into the Games. Not when so many other eighteen-year-old boys were as desperate as she was to be chosen.

She stood beside the other girls her age, the other hopefuls as the crowd assembled. Her entire sections seemed equally giddy. In fact, she recognized most of the other girls in her row from the training academy. She waved to her friend Gemma just a couple of girls down the line. If she wasn't chosen maybe Gemma would be. They all deserved it, she supposed.

She saw the mentors lining up onstage, Blake looking even more as annoyed at being there as he did every year. He wouldn't have to come and mentor this year, though. He should at least be grateful for that. Since Fedelmid had won it had been he and Echo who had taken on the academy and any responsibilities that came with the Games. All he really had to do now was sit there and look pretty.

Sabinus, the new escort, instead of pulling a name from the reaping bowl, as was traditional stood before them.

"Welcome to the first quarter quell. As ordained by our president, this year, as you may know, the members of the districts over 18 have elected one male and one female tribute to be our representatives this year. There will be no changes to these votes, no volunteers. For the females: Beatrix Moquette."

"Yes!" Beatrix exclaimed, nearly leaping out of her skin. She gave Gemma a high five and hugged a couple of the girls around her before dashing to the stage. She couldn't believe it! As she approached she could see Blake rolling his eyes as he did every time someone was excited to be in the Games. She stood there proud, awaiting her district partner.

 **Blake Mahner: District One Mentor**

It was almost over. They were halfway done with selecting the fools who didn't know what they were getting themselves into Blake tried not to look at the girl with the feelings of derision he felt. This year of all years, why would anyone have wanted to take on the Games. If they knew the Capitol at all, if they had paid attention, or if their parents had warned them, they would have known that the Capitol was going to take last year's betrayal out on District One. They should have known to stay away this year. To have someone die in the Games was not a shame, but for a Career district to have a volunteer commit suicide before even entering the arena, it was utterly unheard of. Since she obviously couldn't pay the price, they would take it out on whoever the tributes from their district were.

Yet they had taken the bait. This girl, and, no doubt, the next name that would be read, had decided to play into the games. They were pawns and they didn't even know it. They had probably fooled themselves into thinking they were volunteering for the pride of the district or to take command of their own lives. They couldn't have been anymore wrong.

"For the boys, Cian Odell." Blake rolled his eyes again. But this time he recognized the name. He, of course, remembered the boy from six years ago, from the eighteenth annual games, who, as he saw the figure emerge from the 18 year old section.

As Cian emerged, equally as exuberant as Beatrix, he bore such a striking resemblance to the figure from years past that Blake almost thought he was having a flashback. Killian Odell had trained as well, had longed to be in the games, with a desire that Blake didn't understand. It was with equal enthusiasm that he shook Beatrix's hand.

"Ladies and gentleman," Sabinus announced. "Your district one first round tributes!" An applause went up before the audience realized what he was saying, but Blake was a lot faster. Before the applause died down Blake glared accusingly at Sabinus who met his gaze and shrugged his shoulders apologetically. The two tributes already onstage hadn't heard him clearly as they were both starting to head offstage. Even Khalani and Fedelmid hadn't caught on. Blake wanted to yell at them, to point out exactly how terrible this was, but he didn't care enough anymore. Terrible things happened in Panem, and they would continue to happen. All Blake could do was sit back and watch, and remember that at least it wasn't his life on the line any more.

Eventually Sabinus raised his arms for silence and everyone once again looked up. "Attention! We will now draw names for the second round: one male and one female. Like the first round: there will be no volunteers."

Everyone froze. He didn't need to say it, but everyone seemed to understand that this was the price they paid for last year, the price of disobedience. The price for surrendering. Now it was a price paid in blood.

Sabinus drew out the reaping bowls, just as he did every year. Except now, with the two tributes already standing on the stage, Blake could see the cost. At least three tributes would not come home, instead of at least one.

"For the ladies: Anika Rhodes."

A slender girl emerged from the 17 year old section, slowly, her long hair blowing behind her. Step by step she came as her dark eyes began to show the terror that the Games deserved. She understood, Blake could see it in her eyes. She climbed the stairs and took her place beside the other two tributes, frightened, as she should be. She kept her distance as she could feel the other two tributes sizing her up. Yet, even in her fear, her fists were clenched in determination. There was more to this girl than met the eye.

"For the boys: Ellis Moquette."

"No!" Beatrix exclaimed, her blue eyes filled with terror. The twelve year old section parted and a boy came forward. His eyes fixed on the girl's already onstage and he walked towards her instead of towards the stage. How long had it been since District one had had a twelve year old in the Games? Much less one who would have to enter the Games alongside his sister?

The four of them stood onstage. Surely some of the parents were taking this as a photo opportunity. Maybe they all should, Blake thought. One last memento before the damage began.

 **Cian Odell: Round 1**

"You don't have to do this," Blaer had said, months ago when the campaigns had begun. She had set him down with Sienna, his niece, a serious look on her face. "You're a good man. You've helped Sienna learn about her father, remember him. You got your mother through her grief. Just let this one go, Cy."

It had been a beautiful day when she'd said those words, so full of dreams and ambition. It was one of those days when he could have lied, he could have told her he wouldn't campaign, wouldn't volunteer, and maybe it would have been true.

"It's my last year, Blaer. If I don't at least try to make my mark I'll always wonder what would have happened. I'll wonder if I really always was destined to be Killian's inferior younger brother, if I can't live up to him." He had looked her straight in the eye, and he knew, at that moment, that his best friend knew he would be going in to the Games. She looked away, incapable of stopping him, unable to protect him.

"Just remember what happened to him and really think about it," she lectured, and with that she and Sienna had let the manner go. Until today.

Today they were back where the Odell legacy had started. In the same room, the same people. It was as though Cian had switched places with his brother, his absent brother, from just seven years before.

They were all there again: His mother Thea, his father Spencer, his friend Blaer, except with one very important addition. Clinging to his leg was Sienna, now seven, Killian's daughter. Killian had never gotten to know her. Before the Games, Sienna's grandfather had honored his deceased daughter's legacy by shielding his young granddaughter from anything to do with Killian Odell. After he finally relented it had been too late. At Blaer's urging and due to his failing health, Sienna's grandfather had finally given her over to the Odell's care.

Now Sienna looked up at him, clinging to Cian's leg, no doubt wondering what this meant.

"I'll make you proud," he assured them. But beyond that no one spoke, which was odd. It was only in that moment that Cian truly realized what he was getting too, as he remembered that day, years ago. The day he had been confident Killian would be coming home. His parents had praised him for volunteering, certain that he would return. They wouldn't be fooled into such certainty once again. And Cian wasn't going to lie to them and assure them of his return. He simply embraced them all, trying to hide any hesitation at going on alone.

Ellis Moquette Age 12: Round 2 :

They weren't alone. And that was the worst part of it.

Beatrix looked confidently at him as their parents spouted general words of encouragement, her hand locked in his.

"We love you both," Bella and Arnold gushed in unison and then giggled nervously.

"We just know you'll make us proud," Arnold continued.

Everyone was dodging the issue, one that seemed blatantly obvious to Ellis. His parents must have noticed his worried look and were certainly choosing to ignore it. After all, why wouldn't they? There was nothing they could do to change the fact that both of their children were going into the arena, both of them might die, and even at best, only one of them would return. Their family would be split.

Just as Ellis thought he couldn't stand the unspoken truth any longer, the Peacekeepers came to the door and said it was time. Their parents slipped their matching bracelets on them as their district tokens and then left the room.

"We're going to stick together," Beatrix hissed immediately, squeezing her brother's hand tight.

"It's the Hunger Games, Beatrix," Ellis replied, but he couldn't bring himself to let go of her hand. "You know there is no 'together.'"

"Ellis, this is what I've always dreamed of. That's why I'm here. And now, you have the opportunity to be here too. Just think what a great team we're going to make!" she said emphatically. That was clearly the end of the discussion. Maybe she was right not to think about what would eventually happen, what had to happen in order for one of them to see their parents again. But Ellis knew that was reality. And in his mind, he already felt alone.

 **Anika Rhodes Age 17 Round 2**

Silence permeated the room. Anika's parents had left already, leaving only her and Rolath, her best friend.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, already knowing any further words would be useless.

Anika fingered the ring he had brought her, Sol's ring. He must have left to get it as soon as her name was called. It was the very ring they had put on her finger years ago, amidst the cheers of many who were farewelling her from the Academy, many other students who had assured her she would be coming back.

She never did. Every day Sol had survived inspired confidence, assured District One that they had been right. Right up until she was killed in a struggle right before the finale; a struggle Aufelion, the victor, could have avoided.

"They're going to pay," she whispered.

"Anika, you never know who can hear you," Rolath shushed her, but his eyes met hers and she knew he couldn't dissuade her. She clutched the ring tight.

"For Sol," she whispered. "Remember me," she told Rolath. Knowing it was time and unwilling to be forced out of the room by the Peacekeepers, Rolath turned around and left. She would cherish the last time he saw her and could only hope his wouldn't be the last encouraging eyes she would see.

 **Fedelmid Cheyenne: Victor of the 19** **th** **Games**

"I can take the girls," Khalani volunteered.

"You really think that's a good idea?" Blake scoffed and Fedelmid braced for it. Blake was fuming and from the look in his eyes he had figured out exactly where to direct that anger.

"Well, one of us is going to have to take two so it might as well be the person who started this. That's what you're going to blame me for, isn't it?" Khalani shot back.

"First off, that's another matter. Let's talk about the girls for a second. Do you think for one moment Beatrix is going to leave her brother? No, the moment he walked on that stage it was obvious they were in this together."

"He's twelve," Khalani retorted. "She's a trained Career. He's not. He barely knows how to hold a sword."

"But he's trained a little bit," Fedelmid jumped in. Khalani gave him a look as though she resented him for jumping in. This was between her and Blake, he knew, but he wasn't about to shy away from a good fight. "Look, besides that, the two girls aren't going to get along. You remember Anika right?"

"Should I?" Khalani growled her voice dangerously low.

"She left the Academy after the twenty first games. After Sol."

"Another smart kid disgruntled with the Career system. I'm going to keep an eye on this one just to make sure she doesn't off herself," Blake interjected harshly with a pointed look at Khalani.

"Fine," Khalani retorted, trying to ignore Blake's jab by turning her back to him. "Which one do you want, then? Cian or the dynamic duo."

"I'll take Cian," Fedelmid agreed, trying to give Khalani at least one win.

"Don't be late for the train," she finalized, leaving in a huff.

" _In restless dreams I walked alone  
Narrow streets of cobblestone,  
'Neath the halo of a street lamp,  
I turned my collar to the cold and damp  
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light  
That split the night  
And touched the sound of silence"  
_


	5. Call my Name District 2 Reapings

Disclaimer: I still do not own the Hunger Games. My thanks to _Loki This Is Madness_ for Eisley Harriet, _IamNightlocked_ for Copernicus Asiago, _FlyingSpaghettiLover_ for Valerie Tanaka and _The Millenium Falcon_ for Malachi Nichols.

Two reapings in one day. Here we go folks.

Call My Name: District Two Reapings

 **Felina Sang – Victor of the 22** **nd** **Hunger Games**

"You really don't have to go this year," Echo encouraged her. It was true. There were three of them, once again. Felina had co-mentored with Echo for the last two years, but last year Echo had seemed particularly uncomfortable having Felina at her side. Felina couldn't imagine why. She was more than ready to take on the tasks of full on mentoring and Echo's implications frustrated her.

"I'm ready," Felina insisted, her eyes cold with rage. And it was true. She had helped at the academy, trained tributes under Echo's direction. She had many pupils who were excelling. It was quite possible that someone she had trained would be picked today.

"There's really no need this year," Echo insisted again. "We both know Belen will want to mentor the female tribute." She paused, as though there were no doubt in her mind as to who that would be and Felina rolled her eyes.

"You know _I_ didn't vote for her. There are much more qualified trainees."

"Name one." Echo challenged, not raising her voice. Felina sighed, knowing she was fighting a losing argument. Although she could think of the names of several that wouldn't change a thing. They would know for certain in a couple of minutes.

"Then let me mentor the boy, whoever that is. Maybe you can stay home this time." Felina insisted.

"Let's just see who ends up coming onto the stage," she said, not unkindly.

"What is it that has you so worried?" Felina demanded, grabbing Echo's arm.

"Come on you two, we're going to be late if you don't move it," Belen called from the street. She wasn't going to wait for them, that much was obvious.

"If you want the truth, you're too hard on them," Echo blurted out reluctantly and Felina stared her down.

"I'm only as hard on them as I have to be. The arena isn't an easy place, especially if you want to make it out alive. It was easier for you; you were in there before the tribute system really developed. I was in there three years ago and believe me, it's tough. All I want is for them to be tougher, and I intend to do that for them."

"Well, I hope that works out for you," Echo retorted, turning her back. "I've found, though, that when you apply too much pressure, people break." With that she turned towards the stage. Still huffing mad, Felina followed her, not wanting to arrive late.

Priskilla Andrei, the escort, had waited for them.

"There are my lovely ladies," she gushed over all of them. Being the only all-female victor team had its perks, Felina supposed. No men around to complicate matters. Priskilla adjusted a hair on Belen's face and Belen, in turn rolled her eyes. She detested when anyone adjusted her appearance, but tolerated it with Priskilla. Felina, on the other hand, shot the escort a "touch me and you die" look.

"Ladies, you might want to know that I just heard a rumor from District one."

"What's the rumor?" Echo asked. She had fallen for the gossip column of the Capitol and Felina just rolled her eyes.

"They say they're taking extra tributes this year," Priskilla revealed in a whisper and with that all of them emerged on stage as the Capitol theme sounded and Priskilla read off their names as previous victors.

"Extra tributes?" Echo whispered so no one besides Belen and Felina could hear.

"I wouldn't believe it." Belen said. "Probably just because district one failed so epically last year. "

"This year, representing the females, your district has elected Eisley Harriet." An applause rang out from the crowd. No surprise there, Felina thought. Eisley, a familiar face in the Victor's village, because of her relationship with Belen, had campaigned hard, and, with Belen's support, Felina was probably the only person who hadn't voted for her.

The familiar girl with straight brown hair flounced up to the stage, her face reflecting Belen's pride. Belen even briefly took her hand as the boy's name was called.

"This year, for the boys, you have chosen Copernicus Asiago."

Not who I voted for either, Felina thought as the shaggy haired boy donned a smile and stepped forward. He brushed his hair from his eyes as he made his way to the stage, blowing a kiss to a girl who rolled her eyes in turn. It seemed as though both of the tributes had something in common; they were both in it for love. That much was crystal clear to Felina. At least that along with their training should bode well for them with the sponsors.

"Ladies and gentlemen, your first round, elected tributes, Eisley and Copernicus." It was odd hearing Nic called by his full name for two sentences in a row. The applause was deafening as the two tributes shared the stage.

"Now that you have had your choice, this year our president has issued an edict requiring extra tributes," Priskilla announced. So it was true. So much that it was just a rumor that she had heard from District One. Priskilla had known the entire time and had just been stringing them along into believing that she knew less than she did. Felina groaned. She hated that. As Victors they should be told about these sort of things. They had the right to know, even if the rest of the district was still kept in the dark.

"These extra tributes are to be reaped as in an ordinary year and will be added to the pool of tributes. As with the first round, there will be no volunteers for this second round."

It seemed like the entire district tried to conceal its fear, pathetically. All of the potential tributes did their best to look enthused, as though whoever was chosen would be fortunate. Felina braced for the unknown with a side look at Echo.

"For the girls, Valerie Tanaka." That name didn't sound familiar at all to Felina, so it was probably not someone from the academy. Given the silence in the compound, it seemed as though the girl wasn't eager at all. The sound of someone crying, multiple people crying, actually, was heard in the distance, further back.

Then a girl emerged from the sixteen year old section, slowly coming forward. She glanced back behind her briefly, but it didn't look as though she was planning to run, more like she was looking back, trying to comfort someone. No doubt that's where the crying was coming from. Valerie, though she certainly looked devastated, wasn't crying. Good, Felina thought. Any tears now would betray weakness, something this girl couldn't afford to do, not in front of two trained Careers. Otherwise she could have given up any hope she had right then and there.

The girl forced a smile as she took the final steps, but then Felina saw the tears on her cheeks and sighed. Now she could only hope the cameras hadn't caught those, but of course they had. She pried her eyes from the girl as Priskilla announced the next tribute.

"For the gentlemen, Malachi Nichols." That name was familiar to everyone onstage, and was, perhaps the last name they expected to hear.

"Someone stop him," Echo whispered as laughter, instead of tears arose from the fifteen year old section and a familiar boy made his way forward, his arms out in front of him to steady himself. A determined look was on his face as he made sure he didn't run into anything on the way to the stage.

"She said no volunteers," Felina repeated, cynically.

"Come on, I don't want to fight him," Eisley growled audibly as Malachi finally made his way to the stage.

"Great, Eisley, I don't want to fight a golddigger like you, either. You and your Career system have your heads up your butts if you think you're fooling anyone. You're just a bunch of cowardly idiots to set this up that way. . ." Malachi started.

"Now look, you," Eisley tried to get a smart remark in, but Priskilla stepped between them.

"District Two, may I present your-"

"You aren't any better, you airhead," Malachi backlashed Priskilla. "You can walk around with your head in the clouds, but you're just a terrible escort too."

"Your tributes for the quarter quell. Happy Hunger Games!" Priskilla chimed, ushering all of the tributes to the Justice building without bothering to force them to shake hands.

 **Malachi Nichols –** Age 15 Second Round Male Tribute

"I don't want to see him," Malachi insisted as the Peacekeeper held the door open for his brother, Ernest. The tone in his voice must have been clear, for he saw his brother's silhouette turn around and leave.

It was for the best, Malachi knew as he heard the door shut. No one else would be coming to see him, not after everything that had happened. His brother would have come, would have stayed until they kicked him out, but it would have only been a pity party, and Malachi didn't need that, he didn't want it

His brother, of course blamed himself for what had happened that day, and so did Malachi. It didn't matter that it had happened at the Career training center, that Ernest had never shown any interest in training; as a matter of fact he'd never even stepped foot in the training center. It had just been he and his friends goofing off and putting a mild poison on their weapons while Echo and Belen hadn't been looking. It was supposed to be almost harmless, just inducing nausea to test their toughness. The poison certainly wasn't supposed to cause blindness. But it had. His friends and the trainers had tried to rush him to the hospital, of course, but it was too late. He wasn't completely blind, he could see shapes and outlines, but nothing else.

Seriously, what was a blind boy supposed to do in the Hunger Games? Malachi laughed again, an ironic laugh that emanated from deep within him. A couple years ago, before the accident he could have been a victor. Even if this had happened when he was twelve he would have stood a decent chance, but now, what chance did he have? It was out of sheer spiteful irony that they had called his name.

 **Eisley Harriet – Age 18 Round 1 Female Tribute**

"It's shameful that they're making us fight together. The voting should have been enough for the quell, now they're sticking us in with weaklings? Why not just line them up and get rid of them to start out with!" Eisley growled.

"Just don't pay them any mind. All that matters is you. Belen will be with you," Eisley's mother, Kenna encouraged her.

"Oh, don't worry, I'll be sure to make a quick end to all of them."

"Just make sure to get back here as a Victor, just like I know you can," her father, Cassius said. He'd always supported her dreams of becoming a Victor and now she was so close she could feel it. This was her year, even with the pesky second round of tributes in the way she would be victorious she would be coming home.

"Be sure to watch me on the screen," she said, turning to her younger siblings, Rowenna and Bash. Bash was bouncing up and down, looking mischievous, but for once he wouldn't be all over the place. For now, just for a precious few moments, even at age six, he understood the sacredness of this moment, as Eisley went on to fulfill her destiny.

"We'll watch," Rowenna promised, beaming proudly at her older sister and Eisley scooped both of them up. They were getting heavier than the last time she had really spent any time with them. What with training and spending most of her nights with Belen she hadn't gotten to see much of her siblings. She was certain they'd seem even more grown by the time she returned from the Games.

"Find comfort in the next couple days with Belen," Kenna advised. "You're not going to enjoy much friendship or comfort in the Games. She'll be a good mentor." Kenna paused, as though she was holding something back. "Yes, she'll be a good mentor."

"Exactly. She'll be devoted, dedicated to saving you, no matter what," her father echoed.

"I can take care of myself," Eisley spat, getting defensive.

"That's not what I meant, dear. It's a mentor's job to take care of their tributes. She'll be doing her job, not giving you special treatment. You're the best tribute from our district. I have no doubt you'll be coming home alive."

"Make us proud," her mother said as the door opened, signaling the time for them to part.

 **Valerie Tanaka Age 16 Second Round Female Tribute**

"Now, now, we don't have time for tears," Valerie encouraged her siblings. Not that it did much good.

Her parents were there for once, trying to control the unexpected madness of seven children, most of who were crying. Her mother wrapped her arms around the youngest as Valerie held the others. There weren't any words. What could she say to really encourage any of them?

Violet, the oldest, was holding up the best. Perhaps she knew she'd have to take over Valerie's role should she not return. At fourteen it would be a heavy burden, but as Violet took her sister's hand, Valerie knew her family would be alright. Eventually. If she didn't return they would stay together.

That gave her hope.

"Why do you have to go? They only need two!" Lars, the five year old started pouting. He didn't understand. He didn't understand how cruel the Capitol was.

"Should they even be there?" her father asked, gesturing to all of the children. It was true, the youngest was three.

"We're not missing this chance," Valerie's mother emphasized. Valerie knew what she meant. They didn't want to miss the last chance to say goodbye to their sister.

Even the youngest, Kirsten, at age three, who didn't really understand, just clung to Valerie's leg. The others crowded around, knowing their time would be up too soon, knowing that within only a few moments Valerie would be taken from them, perhaps forever.

"Don't watch what's on the screen," Valerie made them promise. If things turned terrible, when they turned terrible, she wanted to shield her siblings from whatever happened. They needed to have their innocence still.

All of them nodded. Violet would probably break that promise, maybe even Aster, at age twelve, but the younger ones, eleven year old Ferdinand, eight year old Mallory, seven year old Kennedy and Lars and Kirsten shouldn't see what was going on. They were far too young for that.

Valerie sighed as she wrapped all of them in a giant hug. One last hug before the Games.

 **Copernicus "Nic" Asiago Age 18 First Round Male tribute.**

"She's not coming, you know," Nic's father, Gerard, said.

"But some of your other friend's might. In fact I bet as soon as we leave this place will be just swarming with your friends," Halsey, his mother swooned. His father tried to look as though he believed it.

Nic just rolled his eyes. "I'm going to the Games, not to die. I'm coming back and when I do, she'll come back to me."

He knew his parents were tired of hearing about her, but he couldn't stop himself. Zoi had been the entire basis of his campaign. She had been the reason he wanted to be in the Games. Then, once he came home in glory, she would see that he was really the person she wanted to be with, not the girl who was holding her hand now.

"Just promise me you'll make some good allies," his mother insisted. Nic nodded obediently. Even though he'd been almost a recluse before the campaign, that energy would certainly put him on everyone's radar. Along with his training he stood a good chance. He knew he would come home.

"I just can't wait to see the competition. I know what Eisley can do, but everyone else, I'm excited to see what districts one and four offer. It's really a shame we got satcheled with the other two this year, but no matter. Easy prey, I suppose."

"We love you son," his parents said as they rose and left the room. Nic forced himself to smile again. This is what he wanted, now he just needed to focus on the end goal, the same end goal he had had since she had broken his heart: getting Zoi back.

 **Priskilla Andei District Two Escort:**

She couldn't believe it. She'd said four names, yes, but even this was despicable for the Capitol. If it were up to her she would have left it at the voting; wasn't it bad enough choosing who was to die? Not that that mattered in District Two with the Career system, but the outer districts surely wouldn't have many campaigners. She'd been an escort in District Twelve for a year and couldn't imagine anyone there campaigning. Now it seemed every district would have to send extra tributes.

Right until she'd picked the second pair of names, she had thought the Capitol was bluffing, that they were only performing that atrocity in District One for what had happened last year. Or that, at least they would allow for volunteers, not subject helpless, blind tributes to the blind justice of the Games. No, none of that was allowed by the Capitol. And she was part of it. Even though she was here in District Two, even though everyone seemed okay with this, it rubbed her the wrong way.

She swallowed as she watched the square clear out. So this was how the first quarter quell began in District Two. She called two names, chosen by the residents who were convinced that love-struck teenagers were fit for a fight to the death. And then, the second pair of names she called belonged to an innocent girl, beloved by her family, and a blind boy. She put on a smile and did her best to remain optimistic for their chances this year.

" _For some reason I can't explain, I know St. Peter won't call my name. Never an honest word, but that was when I ruled the world."_


	6. Don't Cry - District 3 Reapings

**Disclaimer:** I still do not own the Hungers Games. Thanks to _where-the-stars-fall-softly_ for Vanessa and Daryl and to _District2Lovers_ for Julia and _S.M.M. 2002_ for Lyndon

"Don't Cry" District Three Reapings.

 **Iris Corolin – District Three Mentor**

"It's not going to be Riker," Leunam reassured Iris. It was the millionth time he had said that and Iris believed him, except for the part of her that didn't. In a normal year, though it had never been explicitly stated, it was assumed that Victors of reaping age were excluded. However, this wasn't a normal year and, despite repeated requests for clarity, Brutus Laertes had refused to verify that either Riker or Viggo were exempt.

Riker hadn't campaigned, but very few people had and some of the campaigns that had been staged had been out of vengeance. There had been a couple of older brothers or enemies trying to get their younger brothers in the reapings, some ex-couple trying to get break up revenge on each other in the worst way possible and a couple of pickpockets or vagabonds who had gotten put up as campaigns. As a victor, Iris really wasn't sure how much attention ordinary people had paid to the campaigns.

All she knew was that it was an established fact that all children, 12 through 18 were eligible for the Games. That included Riker.

Surely Leunam was right. Surely their own district wouldn't be cruel enough to send Riker into the Games twice. She had a good attitude about it, certainly, but she never would campaign, never would want to be sent in.

And then, of course there was the terrible thought that worried Iris more than the possibility of the districts voting Riker in, the possibility that they really didn't have a choice. Wouldn't that be even more of a cruel irony, for the Capitol to "allow" the districts the horrible choice of a mandatory voting and then rig the polls. Was it a horrible thought, certainly, but Iris wouldn't put it past the Capitol.

"It is time to go," Leunam urged her as gently as possible, taking her hand in his. It was his promise, she knew. He couldn't promise with absolute certainty that it wouldn't be Riker in the arena, and if it was, he couldn't promise they could get her out again. Since her victory Riker had become almost like a daughter to them, since they shared a bond only survivors of the Hunger Games could truly understand and it would break Iris's heart to risk losing her again. Leunam couldn't protect her from either of these possibilities, but he could promise that he would be there, unwaveringly beside her for the duration of whatever came.

They emerged from their house in the victor's village. Riker was undoubtedly at the square already, but would she be onstage with them as a victor or would they force her to line up with the other children? Iris was relieved at least when she saw Riker on the stage. At least they weren't treating her differently from the start. That was a good sign.

The escort, Tian Linx smiled at Riker and she smirked back. Iris even managed a smile as Riker waved, but she was still worried. As Tian made his way towards the bowl she clutched Leunam's hand.

"Ladies and gentlemen, as you know, this year instead of me selecting the tributes for the Hunger Games's first round they have been voted in by your own district." Iris caught that. Tian covered his mouth quickly, as though realizing his mistake. There was going to be a second round. By the reaction in the crowd, not many people had caught it, but the few who had were murmuring.

"The female tribute selected by those of voting age is: Vanessa Lowry."

A girl from the 18 year old section slowly stepped forward as though she couldn't believe she had been selected. Iris sighed. She vaguely recognized her from one of the campaigns. She hadn't paid too much attention, but she thought she remembered her as one of the girls whose ex-boyfriend had been campaigning against her. Hadn't she started a campaign against him first? Well, that had backfired. She crossed her arms in frustration as she made it to the stage and looked out resentfully at the cloud, accusing the entire district of putting her in this position. Iris couldn't blame her, but then again, it would have been the same problem with anyone. They weren't a Career district where there was a good choice, someone who wanted to be in the Games. No, the only choices were bad ones.

"For the boys, Daryl Koestler." At the name a vicious smile crossed the girl's face as an equally stunned boy emerged from the section across from where the girl had emerged from. Another 18 year old. At least that boded well for their chances, as far as that was concerned. Iris sighed as the boy took the stage, sending equally dirty looks at the girl and crossing his arms. They were a perfect pair of hatred.

Because of his slip up earlier, Tian didn't even bother to pause and applaud for these two.

"As you may have heard from Districts one and Two, there will be a second round of tributes. As decreed by the Capitol, this year these tributes will be reaped. There will be no volunteers permitted." Good try covering up your error, Iris thought, but everyone knew there was little to no communication between the districts. There was no way anyone knew that there was going to be a second round before Tian had said anything. The couple of minutes hadn't been much in the way of preparation.

The reaping bowls appeared again, as they did every year. Could Riker's name be in there? From a side glance at Riker she didn't seem worried at all.

"For the second round, the female tribute is Julia Blaire." Iris breathed a sigh of relief, even as she realized how horrible that was. Riker was safe.

But Julia wasn't. A pale girl stepped forward from the fifteen year old section, petite and around 5'7. She slowly made her way to the front, desperately trying not to cry. After all of the hype with the campaigning and the stupidity of them, this little girl reminded Iris of why the games were truly so terrible, and for a moment she felt guilty for only worrying about Riker. It wasn't fair that any of these tributes would have to go in, but especially not a girl with such a soft nature as this one.

"For the boys, Lyndon Omicron," Tian announced. Iris hoped that the boy would be a more ready candidate, until the thirteen year old section parted. The boy in the center, with a messy mop of hair on his head was frozen to where he stood, staring at the stage in terror.

Move, Iris begged him, praying he would at least find the strength to take a step towards the stage. But to no avail. After a moment the Peacekeepers came and fetched him. They grabbed him by both of his arms and dragged him along. He stumbled beside them, almost tripping a couple times. By the time he made it to the stage there were tears in his eyes.

"Shake hands, all of you," Tian tried to rouse the tributes. Julia recovered her wits a big, and turned to shake hands with the first girl and boy, who accepted her hand, but refused to shake hands with each other. Then Julia turned to the boy. He still had tears in his eyes, but took her hand.

"Ladies and gentlemen, your district three tributes for the quarter quell." Tian announced. There was a great applause and then Tian ushered them all off to the Justice Building.

 **Vanessa Lowry – Female Age 18 Round 1.**

"I can't believe it," Vanessa pouted. Her arms were still crossed in disbelief. This was all Daryl's fault.

Her district was stupid, the Capitol was stupid. They were supposed to see that he was a jerk, not her. He was the one who had been unfaithful, who had thrown her aside. Where was the justice in sending both of them into the arena when he was the one who was at fault? Why was she here along with him?

"You know, honey, you're going to be the Capitol's favorite. Just show them who you really are and they'll love you for it," her mother crooned. Vannesa nodded, trying not to roll her eyes.

"Of course they'll love me, mom. I'll have them eating out of the palm of my hand begging to sponsor me. I bet Daryl doesn't get any sponsors at all." She huffed. If there was one thing she didn't doubt it was that she would do better than Daryl.

She may have ended up there in unfortunate circumstances, but she would rise above them. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry, or of hearing her complain. She would simply demonstrate her superiority in the arena. Yes, that was the way to do it. Sheer will and her confidence. Her parents beamed at her as they left the room and Vanessa was invigorated again.

Yes, she would destroy him and all of the scumbags like him in the Games. And she would be coming home.

 **Daryl Koestler – Male Age18 Round 1**

"She just can't get over me. She wanted to be in the Games so much, I guess it worked out for both of us," Daryl laughed it off. His parents pretended to laugh, pretending that there could be any humor in the situation. His little brother Carl might have actually been laughing; it was hard to tell if it was genuine or just the laugh that he thought ingratiated him to his older brother. Either way, his family was right. There was nothing funny about the whole situation, but the only way he was going to survive was by pretending there was.

He actually thought Vanessa's idea to campaign had been ridiculously stupid, but he had retaliated because if she could be angry over something trivial he could too. And now look at where it had gotten them, all over a stupid girl. He'd dated her for a couple of weeks and then she'd claimed he'd cheated. Couldn't she see he'd just gotten bored with her. He could strangle that girl for her stupidity. Maybe he'd even get a chance to.

"I hope you learned your lesson. I tried to warn you that hell hath no fury like a woman scorned," his father scolded him.

"Yeah, she sure showed me. I'll make sure not to let any of the girls in the arena get a crush on me or I'll kill them straight away," Daryl scoffed. He almost felt as though he could jump into the games right now with the fury welling within him. Just let him at Vanessa and she would regret that she ever set eyes on him. Just wait until the arena.

 **Julia Blaire: Age 15 Round 2 Female Tribute.**

She had to stop crying.

As soon as her parents had left, emphasizing their encouragement and their belief that Julia could emerge triumphant despite her age and inexperience. They were certain she would find a great use for her intellect in the arena, just as she had here in the districts and achieve, just as they had always dreamed she would. Albeit, they had never dreamed that she would be in the Hunger Games, their dreams for their daughter's accomplishments were solely scientific, but fate seemed to have different plans for her.

The door opened again and Em entered. Julia burst into tears again.

"I'm so sorry!" Em gushed. "This should never have happened to you. It wouldn't have if they'd allowed volunteers. I'm certain of it. I would have volunteered for you!" she paused, clearly knowing the hypotheticals and what could have happened made no difference now.

"I just hope I don't let my parents down," Julia managed through her tears.

"You won't. They're proud of you. Julia, you are all that they have. You're their only daughter and they love you so much."

"I always thought that bad things only happened because you deserved it." Julia managed to whisper. "I mean look at the boy and the girl in the first round. They campaigned against each other and then karma ended up turning it on both of them. They deserved it because they wished ill on someone else. What have I ever done?"

"Nothing bad," Em assured her. "And that's why we need you back here. You're brilliant, Julia. And that's why you'll make it home. Now dry your tears. You can't let them see you cry."

 **Lyndon Omicron Male Tribute Round 2 Age; 13**

He couldn't stop crying.

His mother held him in her arms, knowing it might be the last time. Usually that worked to quell his fears, but not this time. There was nothing his mother could do to tell him it was all right or to protect him.

Yet he found comfort in her arms while he could. His twin sisters looked at him sympathetically, but for once neither Trisha nor Irina knew what to say. His father was holding his twelve year old brother, Richmond, who Lyndon hoped still didn't understand. He hoped his brother, even though he was only a year younger than him, didn't understand that the very tesserae that kept their family alive were responsible for this. The tesserae and the Capitol.

Lyndon tried to force the tears from coming, but he just couldn't. He hated that the last moments with his family would be sorrowful ones, but he couldn't stop the wave of grief that had been unleashed upon him. He might was well try to stop the train that was coming, or tell time to stop. That's the way it always was with his emotions. He always felt everything very deeply and there wasn't anything he could do to stop it.

"We love you," his father said. There weren't any other words that were necessary. They didn't need to tell him he could come home, that would only make it worse. If by some miracle he did, he would enjoy it then. But for now, he just needed to be in this moment, this last moment of tears before it was time to put on a brave face.

He squeezed his mother tightly and finally the tears stopped as his family stood to leave. He could be brave.

 **Riker Dane – Victor of the 23** **rd** **Hunger Games**

"So we put the two who already want to kill each other together, right?" Riker proposed sarcastically. Leunam smirked, but Iris just rolled her eyes.

"I just hope they don't see to it on the train. There's no way either of them is going to be civil or even remotely close to it," Iris said.

"Then let's split them up. I can take the girl," Riker offered. It was obvious Iris wanted nothing to do with this ex-lovers' drama.

"What do you think about taking the younger boy? He's the closest to your age and looked like he could use a lot of encouragement," Leunam proposed.

"Fair enough," Riker agreed. "What about the other three?"

"I'll take Vanessa," Iris agreed, bracing herself. "She'll be a handful."

"That leaves me with the younger girl and the boy," Leunam agreed. "This should be an interesting year." He left that comment where it was, but it seemed as though there was something unspoken, something Leunam suspected, but didn't want to say aloud. Riker glanced at Iris for a clue, but she was just as guarded as Leunam seemed. Something wasn't quite right, wasn't quite normal even for Reaping Day. Riker could sense it.


	7. Dark inside - District 4 Reapings

**Disclaimer:** 1ST off. Than you to everyone reading & reviewing. I really appreciate it.

I still do not own the Hunger Games.

Thank you to _FBL_ for Ivanna Gaunt, to _IamNightLocked_ for Caspian Cress, to _Elim9_ for Marley Jensen, and _JabberBlabberInk_ for Evelyn Altier.

Also, please note, I did alter the 1st round / 2nd round option for Caspian because it worked better in the context of where this district was heading. Hope that's okay.

District Four: Dark Inside

 **Viggo Helden – District 4 Victor of the 24** **th** **Annual Hunger Games.**

Would it be him? The question racked Viggo's thoughts as soon as he awoke in the morning. Even now, the day of the Reapings, he was conflicted. He didn't know whether to hope he was chosen, or to hope he wasn't. In any case, it felt good to have the decision out of his hands. The adults had already voted yesterday; no matter what, the decision had been made already.

One thing he knew for certain, though, was that he wanted to avoid his mother this morning. He wanted to avoid Excelcia. As a matter of fact, until the votes were public, he just wanted to avoid everyone. That way he couldn't say anything stupid that would incriminate him one way or the other.

He knew, almost certainly that his mother had voted for him. He had lain awake last night contemplating that. He'd heard his father arguing with her about it a couple of nights ago.

"Cerise, he's you're son, you're only son. Don't ask him to do this," his father had whispered in what he thought was a voice too low for Viggo to hear. But after being in the Games, after learning to be attuned to every sound, to every voice, even in the huge mansion in the Victor's Village, Viggo heard everything.

If he had been his brother, winning once might have been enough. But Sean was dead and Viggo was all she had left. And he simply wasn't enough. He knew that.

With the same skill he'd demonstrated in the Games, Viggo climbed out of his window into the daylight. His mother wouldn't notice; as long as he got himself to the Reapings on time she would assume he was at the training center, like Sean would have been, getting in some last minute practice.

Well, she couldn't have been more wrong. Right now, training was the last thing Viggo needed. He simply needed solitude.

"Just where do you think you're going?" a friendly voice called from behind him and Viggo reluctantly turned around.

"Casp, I really just need to be alone," Viggo begged. He could feel the frustration boiling up in him again and he clenched his fists trying to keep it under control. It wasn't directed at Caspian, not really. The two of them were friends, close friends, but right now, Viggo just needed to be alone.

"That's the last thing you need before the Games. Besides, don't you want to wish me luck?" Caspian flashed him a smile.

Viggo sighed. Of course he did. Caspian had run what seemed to be a very successful campaign, one Excelcia and Aufelion both had supported, but would it be enough? Viggo couldn't be sure and he hated that more than anything. In fact he hated all of this.

He couldn't bear to shrug Caspian off, though. No, as much as he needed to be alone, Viggo clenched his fists even harder, swallowed his pride and managed a reluctant smile at his friend.

He didn't understand. The way he viewed the Games had been the same way Viggo looked at them before they claimed Sean, before they ripped apart his family, his life, before he himself had been a tribute. And now he might be again.

Maybe it would be a mercy for everyone, he thought as he made mindless small talk with Caspian. If he was selected everyone would get what they secretly wanted. The Capitol would get quite a show, his mother would get to see his life endangered again, and no one else would have to risk their life again. Maybe it was better for him to go in after all.

"Who do you think the girl will be?" Caspian asked, in a failing effort to keep the conversation off of the reapings.

"Who knows," Viggo thought. "Maybe Ivanna." There were several girls who would have made wonderful choices, but Excelcia had backed Ivanna. She had tried to remain impartial, or at least maintain the illusion of impartiality, but it was no secret that she, perhaps alone of anyone in District Four, did not want Viggo in the arena.

Viggo, for his part, had publicly said little to promote his campaign, especially after Caspian had started his. He knew to do anything different would crush his friend, but ultimately it was the district's decision. Despite Caspian's strength and excellence at training, Viggo wasn't certain they would choose him, in part because of how he'd been bullied in the past. If any of the kids thought that was a weakness, it might rub off on their parents.

Viggo realized it was time, and reluctantly rose, wordlessly. He and Caspian entered the square together, perfect opposites in their suites. Caspian's was a dazzling white suit coat with a teal dress shirt and a tie while Viggo's suit was black with a red dress shirt beneath it. Caspian always said it brought out the blue in his eyes.

"Good luck," Viggo managed, patting his friend on the shoulder as they separated. Though they would have been in similar age groups, the Peacekeepers motioned for him to move towards the stage and join the other victors.

He settled in as Titan introduced the victors in the ceremony, not really paying attention. All he wanted to do now was to punch something, someone in the face for delaying all of this. What was all of this pomp and circumstance worth? Just call the names and be done with it! He wanted to shout, to move, to do anything, but he was stuck on the stage, until his fate was decided.

"As always, we will call the name of the lady selected by your district first. A reminder to all you hopefuls out there, this is a selection process that was completed last night. There will be no volunteers. Absolutely no volunteers."

Viggo braced as he could feel the punch coming. The girl's name and then, almost certainly, his own. The way Titan had said what he just said, looking pointedly at him almost sealed it. He knew the second envelope contained his own name.

"For the girls, your district has selected Ivanna Gaunt." Titan announced. Cheers went up from the 18 year old section and high fives were doled out generously as Ivanna took her time processing to the stage. She looked truly glorious in her white gown, matching her pristine blonde hair. Viggo had never seen her like this; at the training center her hair was always strictly back and she was always in a tight jumpsuit uniform.

She smiled familiarly at all the mentors and Excelcia beamed her approval.

"For the gentlemen, I am pleased to announce Caspian Cress."

It wasn't his name! Caspian nearly leapt in the air in disbelief as Viggo felt the desire to punch something even more strongly. As friend made his way to the stage, Viggo settled for high fiving him, perhaps with more force than he ought to have, for he nearly made Caspian stagger. The other boy still beamed, though, seemingly overjoyed.

Viggo stepped back, waiting for Titan to finish up.

"For any of you who feel you have missed your opportunity, by decree of the Capitol there will be a second round, held as a reaping."

There was a palatable mixture of anticipation and confusion in the air as the district allowed this to sit in. Excelcia even looked surprised. No one had seen this coming. Could this possibly have been orchestrated to get both he and Caspian into the Games.

Viggo composed his face into a stone like complexion as Titan drew the girl's name.

"For the second round girls' pick, Marley Jensen."

"I volunteer!" hollered a voice from the crowd, ignoring what had been said. From the seventeen year old section, Charlotte Jensen, a girl Viggo recognized as one of the promising hopefuls from the training center rushed forward, pushing the younger girl, who must have been her sister back in line in the fourteen year old section.

"I do apologize, young lady, but there are no volunteers for this year," Titan pronounced. He did actually sound a little sad; he probably would have preferred Charlotte to her sister any day.

"She's just a kid! Wouldn't you rather have me? You deserve me!" Charlotte protested. A couple of the trainee girls began adding their voices to the mob.

"Ladies, settle down. There's always next year. This year, however, is strictly a reaping and it is Marley that has the honor of representing your district."

Charlotte continued to protest, but the younger girl, dressed in a simple grey t-shirt and loose olive pants stepped forward. She placed a hand on her sister's arm in farewell, and then stepped forward. She took her spot on the stage and seemed to put on the same iron-clad mask that Viggo wore, the mask of someone trying so desperately to look like a fighter.

"For the boys, Evelyn Altier."

It took a moment for a boy in the 16 year old section to stumble forward. He nearly tripped, stumbling into the boy in front of him. Viggo could see him mumbling an apology as he continued onwards.

He certainly wasn't what Viggo thought of when he imagined a fighter, but it was clear there wasn't really another option. His only advantage that Viggo could see was his height. At nearly six feet tall he stood taller than most other boys his age. His long-ish hair waved in the wind as he stood there on stage, staring nervously out at the audience. He clearly hadn't expected this, no one had, really.

"Now shake hands," Titan urged, seeming annoyed at having to prompt them.

All of the tributes shook hands. The two first round candidates first and then the second two round tributes.

As they were ushered off, Viggo glanced up at Excelcia, certain she felt as scorned as the other tributes that had tried to volunteer. He imagined that she would be furious that instead of her entire tribute selection being trained Careers, this year she would have to settle for a mere half of them. But when he looked at her, she seemed serious, almost lost in thought. She managed a smile at him before ushering them to the train.

"Come, Viggo. We should be there before the tributes."

This year all four of them would be on the train for the first time in years, Excelcia, Aufelion, Mags and himself. Yet, Excelcia said nothing. In fact, the silence that surrounded them was eerie.

 **Caspian Cress Age 17: Round 1 Male Tribute**

"I thought Viggo was going to be here," Caspian observed. He was sitting comfortably in the Justice Building, about as pleased as punch. His family had already come in and told him exactly how proud they were of him and his ego couldn't have gotten any bigger. Now he sat with one of his two best friends, Vienna Dwell.

"Don't be silly. You're going to get to spend tons of time with him as your mentor, so it isn't like you'd be saying goodbye to him," Vienna scolded him playfully. "Besides, I think Excelcia whisked him off."

"I still can't believe I won!" Caspian said, breathing a sigh of relief.

"Don't tell your mother that. She worked so hard to make sure you did," Vienna smiled. Neither of them said the unspoken truth, that Caspian had started campaigning, had been so insistent when he'd noticed Viggo considering making the motion himself. After all, it had never been explicitly stated that he couldn't go back into the Games. But now he was forever safe from that and Caspian could do what he had dreamed of, be at Viggo's side and make his friend proud of him.

"Now you really should tell him," Vienna encouraged, but Caspian shook his head. When he won, then, only then, when he could prove that he was as strong as Viggo would need him to be, when he could prove that he deserved to be with a victor, only then would Caspian reveal his feelings for his friend. Until then, he could support him as a friend in the Games, as one of his closest friends, and his mentor. Until then, they could be nothing more.

"We got you something," Vienna said. "Viggo helped me pick it out and I know he'd want to be here when you open it, so just leave it wrapped for now." She handed him a package, elegantly wrapped, so he knew she had done it; Viggo would have gotten frustrated with wrapping anything and would have resorted to plopping whatever the gift was in a paper bag.

"What about you?" Caspian asked, certain that Vienna was dying to see him unwrap it.

"Well, win the Games and tell Viggo how you feel about him and that'll be enough present for me," Vienna sassed him and then she was gone.

Caspian leaned back and smiled, holding his present close to his chest. Yes, he was ready for this.

 **Marley Jensen Age 14: Second Round Female Tribute**

The room had been dysfunctional since the outset, her family being ushered in one by one. They all wanted to be there at once, but her parents had organized it so of her six siblings she had a little bit of time with each of them. Now, at last, after saying farewell to her parents, her four older siblings, Virgil, Kira, Roland, and Mason, and her nephew, Ahren, it was Charlotte's turn.

"It should have been me!" Charlotte yelled again, whether in anger or frustration or grief, Marley wasn't sure.

"Well, I wish it was, too," Marley retorted.

That was enough to get her sister's attention.

"You know I'm not mad at you, it's just so stupid. You don't want to be there and I did. Why won't they let me?"

"Because it's the Capitol. How often would they do what we want them to do?" Marley pointed out.

"You did train, though, remember? If only for a little while," Charlotte was reaching, knowing her time with her sister was drawing to a close. Apparently she didn't want to come off as a complete lunatic. Marley scoffed. She'd stopped training exactly because Charlotte had started. Being the youngest child, she never wanted to be compared to her siblings, not even one she admired.

"So, any last minute advice?"

"Well, I wouldn't go anywhere near your . . ." Charlotte stopped short. "No, wait. No, way. If I give you advice you're going to do the exact opposite, you twat!"

"No I wouldn't!" Marley insisted innocently. She honestly didn't know what she'd do or why she'd asked her sister for advice. She just wanted to stay here for a little longer, no matter what that meant.

"That's what you always do, though. If I tell you to charge the Cornucopia you'll run away. If I tell you to make allies you'll go it alone. If I tell you to not jump off a cliff you'll go and do just that, Marley." Charlotte was trying to keep her temper in check, but was failing miserably.

"Maybe you should calm down. After all, it's my life at steak, not yours. If I take my own path, what's that to you?"

"Marley, you're my sister. I want you back," Charlotte struggled, fumbling for words. "You can do this. I know you can."

 **Ivanna Gaunt Age 18 District One Female**

"You're going to make me very proud," Justin Gaunt smiled at his daughter. In the back of her mind she could still hear him yelling commands, training her, as he had for so many years alongside Excelcia and Aufelion at the training center. He had helped Excelcia to establish the center years ago and used his experience from the war to benefit all of the trainees who had passed through his doors. None had benefitted more than his daughter, though.

She knew she owed a lot of her experiences to him, a lot of her successes, and, undoubtedly, the fact that she was sitting here, on the precipice of her dreams.

"I will," she promised, beaming back at him. She could already imagine what it would be like in the arena, could already feel the weapons that she was so familiar with in her hands. She would prove, once and for all, that the Career system and the academy were the superior forces in the district.

"Remember, chose your allies wisely," her mother advised her, weakly. It was all she could do to make it out today, and was leaning heavily on her father. Ivanna gave her mother a hug, not too tightly, but enough to assure her that she would be coming back. She studied her face so that she could remember it when she was in the arena.

Her mother, Odette, was the real reason that she volunteered for the Game. Her father had driven her, yes, but her mother's illness, the time limit that was now being imposed on their relationship, that had been what sealed her decision. If she could come back as a victor they would never want for medicine again, they would have access to the best doctors in Panem. They could save her mother. And this, this was the only way to get her hands on what she longed for: more time with her mother.

"I love you," her mother whispered weakly. Ivanna could tell that her mother's strength was waning, but she wanted her to stay, needed her to stay. She took her mother's hand, because she couldn't ask her to do any more.

"I love you too," Ivanna whispered and then her father ushered her mother from the room and she became a dream to cling to.

 **Evelyn Altier Age 16 Round 2 Male Tribute**

"You ought to know what you have to do," Michanna scolded him. Evelyn braced at her earnestness. His parents had just said their goodbyes along with his older brother. Evelyn had almost thought the Peacekeepers wouldn't let Michanna come, given the mischief she was known for getting into. But sure enough, both she and his friend Rhode, his two best friends in the world had managed to get in to say goodbye to him.

Evelyn shrugged, feeling certain Michanna didn't mean the obvious. Obviously he had to find some way to make it home. His mother was depending on him to take over her store while his older brother helped out with his father's fishing boat. It was clear that his place was here, not in the arena.

Michanna would have slapped him across the face if Rhode hadn't stopped her hand.

"Are you trying to get kicked out?" he demanded.

"I'm trying to get him to pay attention. I'm sorry you're in this mess Evelyn. Really, there's no worse person they could have picked."

"Trust me, I wish they would have allowed volunteers. I know any of the boys from the training center would have been itching to get in."

"I would have taken your place if I could have," Rhode offered. Evelyn wasn't sure if he meant it, but now they were words, and they were well meant.

"You're going to have to stop being so damn polite," Michanna pointed out. "You can't let anyone tell you what to do. Maybe your mentors, but no one in the Games. It's your life on the line and we need you back here."

Evelyn nodded.

"I'll make it back. I promise," he said. He knew they were just words, but he was going to try. After all, it was a promise, and he never backed out on a promise.

" _Don't get too close_ _  
_ _It's dark inside_ _  
_ _It's where my demons hide"_


	8. District 5 Reapings

Disclaimer: I still do not own the Hunger Games. My sincerest apologies for the delay between chapters. My father's computer was down, so he was using mine, leaving me effectively computerless. I have now joined camp nanowrimo and am trying to make up for lost time. So thank you for your patience. My goal is to have the reapings completed by the end of the month. Thank you to when-is-winter-coming for Charlotte Bridges, Ariem for Alaward Greene, Flying Spaghettei Lover for Mercedes Latimer and xxbookwormmockingjay for Jasper Cavallo.

Also, note for anyone whose stories I'm currently reading, my progress & reviewing of those has also been delayed because of lack of computer. I'll be trying to catch up on those this coming week. (Elim9 and when-is-winter-coming, here's looking at both of you.)

Placing hate on your name – District Five

Aphrodite Aurelius – District Five Escort

Even after all these years, it felt as though she was standing in a stolen place, where someone else should have been. Standing on the stage, long before the crowds were ushered in, it was almost as though Aphrodite could feel Allorea McKenna staring down at her. She certainly wouldn't be smiling, but looking down on her in warning.

Aphrodite had stopped fooling herself into saying that maybe this would be the year. Her father had reminded her that success came when it was least looked for. Maybe this year was his way of trying to give her an unanticipated victory so she could finally be recognized and finally be done with this hell.

She knew, of course, what he had planned. She could only imagine the commotion that had accompanied the surprises in the other districts, the surprise that would come to her own assigned district in just a couple of moments when they heard four names called instead of three. Maybe one of those four would return home and relieve her of her duty, finally freeing her of the burden Allorea had thrust her with.

Yes, district five had been more hopeful than district twelve, her original district, but with the death of their only victor during the 18th Hunger Games, the district was depressed, despondent, hopeless. If she could turn that around, she would consider herself a victor.

"Are you ready?" Simon Peredeur, the district five escort asked. She nodded, not finding the ability to lie to him. Of course the answer was a mixed one, she was more ready than the tributes were, but not nearly as ready as she needed to be.

The children were now making their way in, the rows and rows of them all from 12 to 18. Aphrodite managed a welcoming smile, though no one in the crowd returned it. She certainly felt no affection radiating from anyone who stood before her. She was the mentor who for the past six years had failed at her mission to bring anyone home. Why should they return her warmth?

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen to the first quarter quell. I would like to extend our thanks again to Ms. Aphrodite Aurelius for joining us again as our capitol mentor." He gestured graciously at her, and Aphrodite bowed slightly, eager for Simon to get on with it. Simon returned his attention to the crowd, but he hesitated. Did he know, Aphrodite wondered, and, studying his expression as he waited, she concluded that he must have at least suspected.

"This year, your district has had the burden of selecting two tributes from your own families, your friends to enter the arena. Last night, you all did your patriotic duty, and all of you who were eligible to vote did so. These are the results of your decision."

Simon drew the first name from his pocket where he had kept it carefully guarded. Only then did Aphrodite notice the bowl held under the podium that he had been eyeing.

"For the girls, Charlotte Bridges."

It was almost as though a sigh of relief parted the crowd as the ginger haired girl from the sixteen year old section stepped forward. She was smiling as she made her way past several rows of people her head held high. How could she be smiling, Aphrodite wondered and sighed internally. What had she gotten herself into?

"For the boys, Alaward Greene," Simon announced.

There was no relief in the seventeen year old section as the owner of this name's eyes grew wide with fear and realization. Aphrodite could see the shock on his face as he took a deep breath and forced himself to take one step at a time towards the stage. Each step was more hesitant than the last and it looked like all he could do to look forward instead of back, but he managed his way to the stage. Once he was there, though, the girl managed a smile at him. She reached her hand out and he took it, even before prompted by Simon.

"In the Capitol's wisdom, because of the events of last year, it has been determined that another reaping shall commence. This time, there shall be no volunteers. I will call a girl's name and a boy's and they shall be joining these two tributes already on stage."

And there it was, Aphrodite thought. The terror in the area was palatable. This district wasn't like one, two and four, who had had the luxury of choosing their prizes, tributes who would have volunteered anyway. It had obviously taken a toll on this district to choose these two, no matter what their reasons had been. It was times like these that Aphrodite wished she knew these people better, rather than only being here for short times each year. If she knew these children's histories, she might be better able to help them. But as it was, that wasn't her place. Now she just waited with baited breath as Simon took his time drawing the name for the girls, as though by making the seconds tick by more and more slowly he could delay the inevitable.

"For the second round female tribute, we have Ms. Mercedes Latimer."

She was a younger girl, Aphrodite realized as the 15 year old section parted for a petite girl with short brown hair and dark skin. The girl didn't make a move towards the stage, but tears started pouring down her cheeks uncontrollably. Her brown eyes weren't even visible as she covered them with her hands.

"Come on," Aphrodite whispered as the Peacekeepers started to close in on her. "Be brave," she begged. But the girl had to be plucked up by the Peacekeepers. Once they had her in their arms she didn't resist, but didn't stop her tears either. They placed her on the stage where the older girl tried to give her a reassuring smile. Mercedes didn't look up until Charlotte wrapped her arms around her. She didn't say anything, didn't lie and say that it would be okay, but that gesture alone seemed to be enough to get Mercedes calm, at least for the moment.

Simon paused, wanting to detract attention from Mercedes, but obviously unsure whether calling the boy's name would make it better or worse. Aphrodite nodded at him. Might as well get it over with as soon as possible, get all four of the children out of the public eye for a couple of merciful moments.

"For the boys you second round tribute is Jasper Cavallo."

There was a pause as the boy in the sixteen year old section paused, realizing his name had been called. For a brief moment his face was blank and Aphrodite feared they might have a repeat of Mercedes breakdown. But the boy managed to put on a smile and strode forward towards the stage. At 5'10 he toward over the other three tributes, but managed to reach down and shake hands with all of them as Simon helped her usher them off of the stage.

"You're going to have your hands full," he commented and Aphrodite nodded in agreement.

 **Charlotte Bridges – First round Female Tributes**

"I don't want to see him," Charlotte insisted to the Peacekeeper. She could hear Gerard's voice and she only could pray that the Peacekeepers would listen to her. As his tone rose, though she began to doubt it more and more and she braced herself against the door. She would stand firm. She would not let his face be the last thing in District Five that she saw.

She felt the door begin to give. So the Peacekeepers weren't helping her after all. She felt a tear threatening at her eyes as she forced herself to put as much of her strength into holding the door fast as possible. No one else would come. It would only be Gerard and she didn't want that. She would, in fact, have given anything to never see him again, even her life.

Then it happened! The door gave and Charlotte felt herself tumble to the ground in reaction to the action.

"How dare you!" Gerard hollered, the fury she had feared for so long raged stronger than ever in his eyes. How dare you campaign and think that you're good enough to go in the Games. How dare you think you can escape me. You're mine, you little bitch." She struggled to get up, to race to the other side of the room, tried to yell for help, anything. But he grabbed her hair tight in her fist. She winced as she could feel him grabbing a strand of it and as she squirmed it came lose.

"No you don't. It isn't over, you know." He grabbed her by the shoulders. He was going to try to take her there, she realized. Didn't he know they only had three minutes and then the Peacekeepers would be in to save her? Didn't he realize then she'd be gone.

"It's over, Gerard. I'm coming home a victor."

"Oh, I'm sure you will," he agreed, his voice softening and her heartbeat slowed a little. She looked into his eyes searching for the man she had first fallen in love with, the gentle man who had captured her heard only to play his terrible mind games with it. "You'll come back and then you'll be mine." He stroked her cheek and his lips came down on hers, almost as gently as they had the first time. Forgetting everything, forgetting her terror, she kissed him back. It wasn't the monster she was kissing now, it was the man who had captured her heart, the man she longed to return to, the man she would dream of in the coming nights in the arena. She closed her eyes, not sure whether she wanted to Peacekeepers to come and rescue her or whether she never wanted to leave this moment.

Let him have this moment, she thought. The rest that follow are finally mine.

 **Alaward Greene – Age 17 First Round Male Tribute**

Alaward was sincerely surprised when the door opened. He hadn't been expecting anyone to come and see him, not after what he had done. And then, certainly, not after what they had done.

He should have seen it coming. After he had betrayed the rebellion, they hadn't chased him, hadn't come after him then. Now he knew why. After Allorea's death, they held enough sway in the district to push the votes, to punish him. He never should have crossed them.

Alaward wasn't even certain he wanted to look up to face whoever had come to see him. He had spent the last several minutes bathing in regret and self-pity, but they had seemed like hours. He had turned his back on everything his father had fought for, endangered it and now he was to pay the price. Anyone who had come would only tell him the same thing.

"Are you not even going to look me in the eye?" a familiar voice gently broke the silence. Alaward looked up in surprise to see Seamus McKenna, his best friend. His eyes immediately filled with tears as he met those of the older man, using a peg leg as he always did.

"I'm sorry," Alaward managed before standing and wrapping his arms around his friend.

"I've already forgiven you," Seamus whispered. "I only wish I weren't the only one."

"Seamus, after what I did, I'm surprised anyone forgave me. My father . . ."

"He won't be coming," Seamus confirmed Alaward's suspicions. It was probably for the better. The less the group of rebels was exposed the better for him.

"I'll go quietly," Alaward said, but Seamus shook his head. "It'll only cause more problems for you the longer I live."

"No. You fight. You're in the arena because you turned on us, but you know how to use that. You know how powerful we can be here. It's clear in the fact that you're in the arena. I even rallied some people to not vote for you. The rebellion is strong here. Now, I'm not going to lose you, so when you're in there, you use that to your advantage, whichever way you can. Trust your instincts. You'll know what to do."

Alaward nodded. There wasn't much more he really could do. He would certainly size up the arena. But if he played up his connections to the rebellion, wouldn't he be putting a giant target on his back for the Capital, a target that wouldn't allow him to escape the arena alive. Yes, it had happened before, when Allorea had won, despite her father's supposed rebellious links, but then look at what had happened to him. He had been dead before she had returned and then her downward spiral had begun. That wasn't the life he wanted for himself or for Seamus. Unless. . .

Did that mean Seamus had some sort of a plan? He couldn't ask him here, he knew. Even though there were no direct cameras there was a sense that they were being listened to, that they were never secure.

"I wish there were something I could give you, kid. It looks like I've got to go now," Seamus managed, seeing the Peacekeeper looming at the door. Alaward was really starting to detest that Peacekeeper outfit. He released Seamus, and the last part of District Five with him.

 **Mercedes Latimer – District Five round 2 Female Tribute**

Her grandmother held her close as the moments ticked away. She couldn't cry now, not after all her tears had been shed on the stage. She had to be strong for her grandmother.

"What will happen to you now?" Mercedes managed. They had been all that the other had had since the rest of her family had died, her mother in childbirth and her father only a distant memory from her early years. They had been pinching it to make ends meet with Mercedes taking tesserae. Now, with their income from her job and her additional money at an end, what would her grandmother do?

"Don't worry about me," Fiona whispered, just as Mercedes knew she would. "If I get you back, nothing else will matter. You just focus on that, child." Mercedes nodded, fighting the tears back again. How could she focus on that all the while fearing for her grandmother's life? "I'll manage," her grandmother repeated, as though she could read her granddaughter's thoughts.

She pressed something soft into Mercedes' hand. As she looked down she saw a scrap of something she had only ever seen before in pictures: her mother's wedding dress. She'd never known her mother, but if the rest of her family were any indication of the love that banded them together then it was a force to be reckoned with, a force that could win the games and bring her home safely again.

 **Jasper Cavallo District 5 Round 2 Male**

"I'm coming home," Jasper promised. His whole family had come to say goodbye; that was to say, his mother, his father and Regina. His little sister clung tightly to his leg. Her eyes, that everyone else in the district always shied away from because they were different, locked into his. She didn't say anything, but he hadn't really expected her to. After all, when you're a ten year old girl, what is there to say when it might be the last time you see your brother.

Jasper still couldn't believe his name had been called, of course, not after the whole affair of the first round. There were so many other people it could have been. Why him?

There was no time for self-pity, thought. He put on a brave face, his biggest smile and hoisted Regina, his little sister up onto his knee.

"You know I'd do anything to get back here," Jasper said. "So whatever you see on the screen, whatever you see me do, know that it's only so I can come home to you. Okay."

Regina nodded. No matter what else she remembered from today, Jasper was determined that she would remember that her brother loved her, not the monster that he might have to become in order to come back to her.

"You will come back son," his father said, smoothing down Jasper's hair even as his sister tussled it. "We believe in you." Jasper smiled, knowing it was true.

"I made you something," Regina whispered. She held out a rope bracelet with four beads on it.

"There's one for each of us," Regina explained. "Mom's," she pointed to the lavender one color "dad's" as she held the warm orange bead "Yours" she said, pointing out the beautiful sky blue one "and mine" she held the light pink one.

"Thank you, Reg," Jasper said quietly, holding the bracelet. "I'll treasure it. You know I will. And I'll bring it back with me. I promise."

Jasper smiled at his family as they left the room. That was a promise he intended with all his heart to keep.

"So I'm sorry if I ever resisted  
I never had a doubt you ever existed  
I only have a problem when people insist on  
Taking their hate and placing it on your name"


	9. District 6 - Holding Rocks

District Six Reapings: Holding Rocks on the Shelves

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games (still). Once again, my apologies for the delay. Once again computer problems, except this time my old computer bit the dust. So now, thanks to my backup sister, I've got most of my stuff, but it did cause a time delay. Sorry about all of that. On the upside, my new computer is pretty awesome! So, there's that. Also, reapings are tedious!

Thank you to when-is-winter-coming for Francesca, SnowKat15 for Linus, Isteed for Adelaide, and anonymous-pitcher-plant for Carson.

 **Ava Ermingard: District 6 Mentor**

"Mommy, how do I look?" Ava's daughter's voice shocked her out of her reverie. It was only one more year, Ava promised herself. One more year and then she would be free to spend the games here, with Jasmine, here keeping her family strong.

At six, the little girl still didn't understand the Games, and it was better that way. She hoped by some miracle she could keep Jasmine safe for the years to come, all the way until she turned nineteen, too old for the reapings, and only then explain to her the terrors from which she had been spared. But of course she couldn't. Jasmine didn't know anyone aside from her mother who had been in the Games already, but she would. Within a few short years, it would become inevitable. The first couple years from twelve to fifteen, it would be less probable, but of course Ava couldn't shake the fear that the Capitol would want to see a victor's relative in the arena, especially given the poor turnout district six had had in the years since Joran's victory. Since then, they had stood alone at all of the ceremonies for so many years.

She had promised herself at the eighteenth games when she learned of her pregnancy, sworn she would bring one of her tributes home. It was funny how she could barely even remember their names. She could, if she focused hard enough, recall their faces, but those had always been easier than names. There were just so many of them by now, too many.

"I want to come with you," Jasmine protested. "Look at me, I'm pretty enough."

"It's not about that," Ava managed to laugh. She was all about telling her daughter what the reapings weren't about, what the games weren't about, always defining the atrocities by what they were not. It was not dangerous for Jasmine's mother, it was not something that would keep her away from Jasmine forever, only for a little while and she would come back. "It's not about who is the prettiest. It's about who will . . ." she paused, choosing her words carefully. "who will stand up for us. And you're not old enough. So even though you're the most beautiful girl in district six, you're going to stay back with daddy."

"When I'm old enough, I want to go with you." Ava froze. The girl didn't know what she was saying. Ava brushed it off as that and put the finishing touch, a white bow, in Jasmine's hair.

"There," she coddled, "you're all ready. Now go show your father."

Edmund was already waiting in the living room, scooping up Jasmine. He'd doubtless overheard the conversation, but said nothing, only laughed as he threw his daughter high in the air. As she was giggling, he leaned in and kissed Ava.

"I'll see you when it's all over," he encouraged her, squeezing her hand. Ava nodded and managed a smile as she dashed out of the house. Better to keep the goodbyes short. That was the way she always wanted it. Short goodbyes and long "hellos."

 **Joran Duff – District Six Victor**

He could feel the weight of the Games on his shoulders again. No, not the weight of the Games, the weight of Ava's desperation. She needed to be out of this and he needed to do whatever was in his power to ensure that this happened.

It was frustrating that he knew there was nothing in his power to ensure that happened. Never in the Games had he felt so helpless. Only now, as a mentor, did he feel utterly sidelined, even in his own life. He was owned by the Games, imprisoned by them. At least that's what every girl he'd been with since the Games had told him. But they didn't understand. They didn't know what he'd gone through. Only Ava did and now she had grown beyond them. She had her daughter and her husband. And what did he have?

Now he had the Games. He had two tributes who would soon be his to mentor, his to instruct and his to, hopefully, return one of them home.

He managed a serious smile at Ava as she took the stage with him and then at the Escort, Grimwold, as he began announcing.

"As you are all aware, this year, you have had the privilege and the honor of selecting your own tributes for the twenty-fifth annual Hunger Games. I will now read the names of the male and female tributes selected."

Joran braced himself, trying to trust in the judgment of his district. After all, they had two victors, surely he could trust that the masses knew what to look for, someone strong, someone who would do well. . .

"For the girls, Francesca Flores."

"Damn it!" came a loud curse from the fourteen-year-old section and Joran immediately began to question his district's judgment. A fourteen-year-old, while not necessarily an immediate loss to the Games would certainly not have been his pick. He had voted for one of the eighteen year olds, a girl who would have done well. This girl, stomped forward, before the Peacekeepers had to come and get her, her fists clenched into balls and her face glaring, spewing hatred to the entire world. This was their selection to represent their district?

As she took the stage, he tried to size her up, struggling to give her a second look, to see something in her that would have turned the populous against her. After all, the point of having a tribute was to have an opportunity to win, not to send them to the wolves. This short girl, despite her fury, certainly didn't have any physical imposition. She was underfed, despite her larger build with dark curly hair. She might have seen him sizing her up, because she looked over her shoulder at him with a look of equal accusation.

"For the boys, Linus Rathborne."

Almost as suddenly as the curse from the girl, a laugh rose from the seventeen-year-old boy's section. Joran was so taken aback that he nearly stepped back, but for Ava's sake held his ground. A slightly shorter than average male with long brown hair stepped forward and, with an odd spring in his step, made his way to the stage. He wasn't smiling when he made his way up, but a slight smirk, almost like a bit of irony was on his face.

Why these two, Joran wondered? What had possessed his district to believe this was the best they have to offer. He started for the edge of the stage, but was interrupted by Grimwold's voice.

"Now, in addition to your selected tributes, as repercussion for some of the actions of individuals in the previous games, the Capitol has decreed that there will be a second reaping held. This reaping will be selected only by raffle as in years before, but no volunteers will be permitted for the boys or the girls."

So there would be four tributes from each district this year. Perhaps the odds would be more merciful and just than his own people had been. Joran still didn't understand their logic, but right now it didn't matter. Now they only had to deal the hand that they had been dealt.

"For the girls, Adelaide Thomas." The fourteen-year-old section parted again. What were the odds?!

The first thing Joran noticed were her green eyes, highlighted by their size and terror as she approached the stage. She stumbled once or twice, surprising because of her graceful looking body. Her face, which ordinarily may have had a kind expression, only held fear, holding back the tears that were threatening to seep from her eyes.

"For the boys, Carson Trundle."

At least the boy stepped forward, without hesitation from the sixteen-year-old section. His brown eyes appeared stoic and strong as he stepped forward towards the stage and joined the two girls and his counterpart for the boys. They were quite an odd mix, and would certainly be a handful for Ava and he to handle. It was difficult enough to feel as though they were doing their tributes justice in the Games when they were able to give them one-on-one attention, sometimes two on one if one of the tributes passed early on, but now, with four of them, their attention would be divided. Everything would become more difficult.

"Which ones do you want?" he asked Ava.

"The second girl," she answered immediately. "And the first boy." She was sure, for some reason, and Joran allowed it. Hopefully one of those two would be their ace.

Ava wasn't good with names, but Joran was. "That leaves me with Francesca and Carson, then," he agreed. "We're going to get through this," he encouraged her, resting his hand firmly on Ava's shoulder. She nodded and smiled. She had to; her daughter was waving goodbye to her from the stands.

 **Francesca Flores Round 1 District 6 Tribute:**

"It doesn't make any sense!" Francesca screamed. She wasn't crying; that would be a useless sign of weakness and that wasn't who she was. She never showed weakness, not when her drunk parents were abusing each other, not when they were neglecting, abusing or ignoring her. Never. She had to be strong because no one would be strong for her.

And that was exactly who was left to come and comfort her now. No one. She sat in the cell, screaming injustice at the walls, holding out. But what was she holding out for? That something would come and save her, that something would take back time and declare that everything that had happened had been a mistake, a terrible misunderstanding. She was far too grown up to believe that would happen. She had stopped believing in the fairy tales that used to be on her shelves a long time ago.

Much to her surprise, the door creaked open.

"Francie?" a voice questioned and a somewhat familiar face popped in. She didn't believe it at first, it couldn't be. But surely enough as he continued talking, words without meaning, the voice, the face, the stature they all came together in the figure of Randolph.

"I'm so. . ." he started.

"How dare you!" she stared him down, coldly, cutting him off mid-sentence. "How dare you come back, today of all days. For all I know you voted for me yourself."

"Francie, I didn't you have to . . ."

"No, you don't get to tell me what I have to do. I don't have to believe you or a single word that comes out of your mouth, not after what you pulled," she growled, her eyes dangerously dark. This was worse than being alone. This was the universe slapping in her face with the one figure who could have saved her years ago, the one who had escaped and had never returned.

"Get out." She said.

"Francesca, you're my sister."

"I don't care. I'm going to the Games and I'm going to be ready. Do you want me to practice with you?" That did it! Randolph, with a sad look in his eyes, turning out of her life again. Good riddance.

 **Carson Trundle District 6 Second Round Male Tribute:**

It would have made sense, Carson thought. If his district had had any sense at all, they would have voted him in the first round.

He shrugged He could never get into people's heads that much. In the end, the reasons didn't matter, only the facts. Only the fact that the second round had happened and now he was bound for the Hunger Games.

He didn't even bother looking at the door. He knew it wouldn't open, just as the door to his home, or what used to be his home would never open again. He was okay with that. After all, it was what it was and there was nothing that he could do about it.

He would fight, to be sure. When it came down to it, if he had to look at anyone with whom he had stood on the stage today and look them in the eyes as he killed them, he could. At least he thought he could now. He'd been on his own for a very long time now, and everyone in the district knew it. Had that been fear he had seen in the boy in his district's eyes. He looked vaguely familiar, like they might have been in around the same year in school, back in the days when Carson used to go to school, but Carson might have just been making that up, having a true human longing for some sort of connection, no matter how temporary, how distant before he was thrown into the Games.

But he knew this was the worst time to look for that. No. He, Carson Trundle, was on his own.

 **Adelaide Thomas District 6 Female Tribute Round Two:**

Breathe, just breathe, she repeated as her family filed into the room. She put on a smile for them, for the sake of her parents and her two younger sisters.

For a moment, she envisioned their family together, in the rare moments when her parents were home from work and they were all enjoying each other's company. The sunlight lit the room and illuminated it, much like her yellow dress now.

She had put it on this morning thinking to cheer those being reaped. After all, there was no way that the district would vote in a fourteen-year-old, not when they had the choice. Even when they had, she had believed she was safe. No one could have known about the second round.

Her sisters clung to her and she gave them a quick hug. She could feel energy surging in her, the desire to run, to escape, to be anywhere else. She had the speed, after all. Could she make a go of it as her family was leaving? She might be able to dash away while no one was looking and then escape the district.

No, she dismissed the thought as she looked at her family, their encouraging eyes, their confidence. Despite the odds she could make it home. Despite her two older district partners, the larger number of tributes and the threat of a looming quarter quell, she could do this.

"Breathe, Adelaide," her father whispered in her ear. He had coached her through track when he could, watched her fight to run, watched her struggle with her nerves before every race. But this was no mere race, no competition that was done in a heartbeat, this was her life she was dealing with and this was a competition she intended to win.

Her bangs flopped in her face and, instinctively, her younger sister knew what to do. She handed her one of her yellow running shoes, the ones that Adelaide had chosen not to wear this morning, for fear that, despite what Fiona, her eight-year-old sister, insisted, they would not match her dress. Now she unlaced the shoe, just like her family was being unlaced and tied the lace firmly in her hair, tying it back and out of her face. Everything was clear now, Her vision had never been more perfect, her goal more succinct as she watched her family exit the room. They were once again her goal.

 **Linus Rathborne District 6 First Round Male Tribute**

"Why did you laugh?" his mother scolded.

"Mother, please, since when is laughing a crime?"

"They did this! The people you live with, the people we live with. Linus, you're my son. I don't understand why they did this to you!"

"Mildred, would you please calm down. They had to vote someone in."

"How do you think this is a time for calm, Wallace. They targeted our son."

"Come on, mom. At least it won't be boring," Linus offered. No, he was not excited at the prospect of being a tribute, but he wasn't going to explain his rationale or his reason for laughing, or even his optimism to his mother. It was a change of pace, to be sure a dangerous business, but what was there to be done about it now. After all, he wasn't very well going to challenge the Capitol and stop the Games, not from here. He had no choice but to play the Game.

As his mother ranted on, his sister, Melina handed him the object he'd been hoping she would bring, his old pocket watch. As words poured from his mother's mouth, lectures about this and that, he played with the nobs absentmindedly, nodding at the right times, responding with the right words, everything he needed to do to play the part of dutiful son.

"Why do you have that thing?" His mother's shrill voice and tone and a question, clearly directed at him demanded his attention.

"It was a gift from Melina. You wouldn't deny my only sister that luxury, would you?"

"It's broken, Linus. What good is a broken pocket watch going to do you?"

"Now, mother. Even a broken pocket watch is right twice a day," he pointed out. "And you know, everything is about time. So I want you all to relax, enjoy and have the time of your life." Hopefully he would return with his life.

" _Hang it on a shelf in good health and good time  
Tattoos of memories and dead skin on trial  
For what it's worth it was worth all the while"_


	10. District Seven Reapings - I'll be Gone

District 7 Reapings "I'll be gone"

 **Author's note and disclaimer:** I still do not own the Hunger Games. Thank you to "The Millenium Falcon" for Madison Vesper, I am Nightlocked for Eureka Eisen, fat necrosis for Eilidh le Blaca, and Finnick17 for Kye Nicolini

 **Jonas Tanner** – District 7 victor of the 18th Annual Hunger Games.

"I cannot fathom why you are yet so melancholy, Aeden," Jonas persisted at the door to Aeden's house, which remained obstinately secured

"Let me handle this," Marlene implored him for the second time. "You know how hard this day is for him. Just let me go in to him."

"Categorically out of the question. He is a victor and this day, above all other days, he must comport himself like one. This year of all the years, is a victory already, for the people have had their selection."

"You don't actually believe that bogus, do you?" Aeden's voice emerged from the house. For all of the experience Aeden had, Jonas understood why the reapings discomfited him. But this reaping was different.

"In an scarce display of justice, Panem is making an attempt at democracy, Aeden. The minimum effort you could exert would be not to tarnish it by your morose appearance."

A crash resounded from within and then a string of curses.

"This behavior is erratic, unexpected even from you. I suggest you repair yourself proximately before there are corollaries for our district."

"There already will be. I can't do it!"

Jonas took a deep breath, trying to maintain his composure and patience, but his endurance of ridiculous sentimentality had its parameters.

"I'm going in," Marlene declared and this time he conceded the point without debate. After all, if sentimentality was the realm in which both his girlfriend and Aeden dominated he saw no reason any longer to prevent her entrance.

"Make certain you emphasize that time is of the essence," he instructed even as Marlene shut the door in his face, rolling her eyes. They did not always understand each other, but she was a suitable mate. After all, as a victor, it was practically his obligation to ultimately procreate with a suitable partner. Besides being a positive influence on district seven, it would be a means to ensure his legacy lived on. Only time would tell, though, if Marlene and her sentimentality could withstand his greatness.

Moments later and after several disturbing noises in the house, Marlene emerged, this time with Aeden behind her in tow. He squinted at the sunlight.

"Is the morning here already?"

"Morning? The hour is nearly on us or had your summoner failed to mention that?" The wreak of alcohol reached Jonas's nose.

"You're intoxicated?!" Jonas exclaimed. This was highly irregular. Never in the years that he had been a mentor nor the years before when Aeden had mentored alone had he been given to drowning his sorrows in a bottle. As a matter of fact, he had cultivated a reputation of sentimentality and sobriety.

"I'm sorry," was Aeden's only response. He held his head low, any of the fight that had been in his words just a moment ago had vanished into thin air. Now, bereft of all cynicism, simply a lamb to the slaughter, he stood before Jonas, unable to move, unable to speak. He hadn't seen him so distraught since the 18th games, since he had been targeted by one of the children and a fire had destroyed his first house in the victor's village.

"What's wrong?" Jonas asked, keeping his words simple. There was empathy there, really there was. It was in everyone's best interests that Aeden be sufficiently prepared for the task of mentoring and it as clear that he simply wasn't. Jonas was determined to do everything he could to remedy that.

"We're choosing them," Aeden whispered, delicately, his voice trembling. Even he was afraid they would be overheard and his words would be misconstrued as rebellion. "It isn't better; it's brutal. Their blood is on our hands, Jonas. Each of us had to write a name of a child. Of an innocent."

Marlene made a move to put her arm around Aeden to comfort him, but then met Jonas's eyes and must have read his thoughts in them. This was a conversation only they could have, District Seven's two victors. She stepped aside.

"I'll see you both there," she said by way of a farewell. And she would. She certainly didn't have to be there. Marlene had no children of reaping age, she had no children at all, as a matter of fact, nor was she herself of reaping age. She could have easily not attended and not been missed at all by anyone but Aeden. But Marlene was loyal, and though she was Jonas's girlfriend, her friendship with Aeden and loyalty to him would keep her there through the reapings. For the moment, though, she was gone.

"It's a heavy responsibility, Aeden, but it is better this way. The people we've chosen, I have no doubt they have more of a fighting chance than anyone the Capitol would have reaped. We're a district that needs to discover their fighting spirit. We'll never be the loyalists that places like one and two are, but we can show people the fight that we have. Sending two people in ready this year, ready like I was, that can be the start to redeeming the nightmare that is the game from the bane of small children to something that can instill pride. It's a necessary evil, Aeden. We might as well persevere and make the best of it." Jonas's words poured over his colleague, his friend, like water. Jonas believed them, he truly did, in equal proportion to what Aeden said next.

"We're murdering them, as surely as the Capitol is. We're murdering them, as surely as we had taken up the swords ourselves."

"As I established, it is far from the ideal situation, but when faced with the choice of having the names in their hands or ours, ours are the most secure every time." Aeden didn't respond. After all, how could he? There was nothing they could do to change the status quo. The Hunger Games had been the only consistent for twenty five years and showed no sign of ceasing. They had to make the best of it.

"Whose names did you write down?" Jonas asked, making every attempt to assuage his friend's guild. Aeden simply shook his head. He couldn't bring himself to say the name, lest it be the one that was on the new escort's lips in just a few short minutes. Time was escaping them, so Jonas did the only thing he was able to think of, even though he was not even certain he could.

"This year, stay home. There will not be blood on your hands this year. You've done your duty."

Aeden looked at him, his face blank in confusion, in terror. Jonas refused to think of whether there would be repercussions for either of them if Aeden were to stay home, but they would worry about that later. This time he had to insist.

"But two tributes," Aeden began to protest.

"You mentored two tributes for ten years. I esteem myself to be up to the task for a minimum of one year, more if necessary. Your current state identifies you as unfit for duty. Aeden, after this long, my belief is that you have earned a respite. I shall notify the Capitol that I will be district seven's only mentor for this year."

Aeden's face visibly relaxed and he hiccupped.

"That scotch is terrible and has an awful aftertaste," he offered meagerly, trying to change the subject. The gratitude on Aeden's face, though, was more thanks than he required.

Jonas smirked. He had his faults, certainly, but over the years the two of them had formed an unusual bond, one that only survivors of something as horrendous as the Hunger Games could have any hope of understanding. Together in that bond, they made their way to the stage.

 **Aeden Sanderling** – Victor of the 7th Annual Hunger Games.

It was almost too good to be true. Aeden stood beside Jonas, looking out at the faces, and simply struggling not to think of them. The alcohol hadn't helped; he'd never really thought it would, but with the responsibility in their hands he had to try everything he could.

All the eyes looked up at him, as though he alone decided their fates. Could his fate truly be so kind that he would not be forced to go himself to the Capitol this year? Each time that he did, it felt as though a small part of him died, as though he returned home a little less. Even with his victory with Jonas, there would always be the guilt that, in his heart, he knew if he had had his choice of the tributes, if he had been able to write a name for a victor as easily as he had written two names of potential tributes, potential victors, that it would have been Bailey, sweet little Bailey, turned by a monster by the Games, that he would have brought home instead of Jonas. What would that have done to the district? Could the man whose choice, if he'd had it, would have led to that, truly be trusted to write names as he had yesterday, to vote his conscience.

Goodwin Landen, the new escort for their district stood far too boldly, a broad smile plastered across his face. As though today were something to be proud of.

"Welcome, district seven. Today is a patriotic and historic day, one of which I am infinitely glad you were able to partake. You and your two victors, Aeden Sanderling, victor of the seventh annual Hunger Games and Jonas Tanner, victor of the eighteenth Annual Hunger Games, have much to celebrate. First and foremost, we celebrate them, and their continued dedication to the purity of the Games. Your patriotism and sacrifice is to be commended."

This one was more pompous than the previous escorts had been. He could only hope that he would tone it down a tad throughout the Games.

"Now, for the moment you have all been waiting for, your selected tributes. First, for the girls, your district, by popular vote has selected Ms. Madison Vesper."

It wasn't the name he had written down; of course it wasn't. There was no good candidate, but it was better than he could have hoped when the seventeen-year-old section parted. At least the district had the sense to choose someone older, someone more experienced and physically fit.

She hadn't been expecting it, though. He could tell from the tears in her eyes, the look on her face as she took the stage, hesitantly, trembling as so many had before her, as so many tributes would after her. But she was different; she hadn't been reaped, she hadn't volunteered, her district, people she lived with, people her family interacted with on a daily basis, had selected her. Madison's blue eyes, brimming with tears, met Aeden's for a brief moment, then they dashed away, trying to look strong, brave, trying to fit the description that the windbag had rattled off.

"For the boys, Eureka Eisen," the man's voice boomed out.

The sixteen-year-old section parted and a boy who looked nothing like the girl emerged. Instead of tears, he almost cracked a grin. He had been expecting this. His name was not familiar either. There was reason enough in that. Maybe Jonas had been right. They had a sixteen-year-old and a seventeen-year-old. Too young, certainly, but they stood a much better chance than any of the younglings.

"Thank you, thank you," Goodwin's voice erupted again. Aeden expected him to conclude the ceremonies and allow the tributes their farewells, but he did not. "I have a surprise for you, my good district seven. As a special treat, there will be a second round of reapings in honor of the twenty-fifth Hunger Games."

The blood drained from Aeden's face and he felt Jonas's hand on his back, supporting him, lest he fall due to a combination of the unusually excessive amount of alcohol, the fast he had self-imposed and the pure shock of the statement.

"There will be no volunteers for this round. By reaping only." As if there would be. As though anyone in their right mind would volunteer for a quarter quell, a quarter quell, now, presumably with double the amount of tributes, even less chance than usual than emerging alive.

"For the ladies, we have Ms. Eilidh la Blaca."

The reapings were not as kind as the district had been, Aeden saw as a fourteen-year-old emerged. She was taller than the rest of her age group, but wore a patch on one of her eyes, the other was brimming with tears. There were no screams, no sobs as she approached the stage, just the numbness and terror of silence.

"For the gentlemen, Mr. Kye Nicolini."

Even worse, if it were possible, the thirteen-year-old section parted for a short, thin boy with brown hair. The section parted, but the boy didn't move forward. In a split second, he darted away, willing all of the speed in his legs to bear him away from the place, to wake him from the nightmare. Of course it would not. One of the peacekeepers made a grab at him and snatched him by his hair. He kicked and bit at the Peacekeeper as he was dragged, not by one, not two, but by three Peacekeepers to the front. Two of them even kept their hands on his shoulders as he stood there. Mercifully, all four of them were ushered to their separate areas to say goodbye.

"Aeden," Jonas started. Who knows what would have followed, if Aeden hadn't cut him off.

"I'll go," Aeden said, loudly enough for Jonas to hear him, but no one else. He knew he had to. Despite Jonas's earlier offer, he couldn't let him mentor four tributes. It wouldn't be fair to anyone. Four would be far too much for one mentor to handle on his own.

"Do you want the first girl and the second boy?" Jonas, for all of his insensitivity, could certainly be perceptive.

"Madison and Kye," Aeden responded. He could say their names. He had to.

"Very well. I'll mentor Eureka and Eilidh," Jonas agreed. "One out of four are certainly not unacceptable odds. Eureka was my candidate after all." Aeden nodded. He had figured as much from the look on the first boy's face. There was method in his madness.

"Now that the course is determined, whose names did you write?" Jonas asked him. "The girl I deemed most worthy was Claudia." Aeden nodded. He remembered her as a strong eighteen-year-old, one who was now, mercifully, out of harm's way, but at Madison's expense.

"Ones that wouldn't have made a difference at all." He unveiled the sheet of paper he had carried with him since yesterday, a written copy of the same ballot he had cast: for the girls, Calliope Willow, the boys Aeden Sanderling. Jonas gave him an understanding smile and, for once, said nothing.

 **Madison Vesper** – 17 first round female tribute

"You can't give up." Madison knew it was the sort of thing her father should be saying to her, but in their case it was the exact opposite. It was over for her, she all but knew it. The voting was a scam. Ever since her mother's death in the riot years ago she had feared, year after year, that she would be reaped. And now it had finally happened. That was what had struck the font of tears, knowing that, if the Capitol got their way, there was no way she was leaving that arena alive. And the Capitol always got their way.

Her father met her eyes. He'd already been crushed after losing her mother; Madison was his world and now she would be gone.

"I won't be gone," she whispered. "I'll be here. Make it better for me, for our people."

"All the times we talked of a better world, a better country, it's so terrible that those in charge don't know what better is. They think this showboating and this so-called democracy is fair, but they're all living- "

"Dad, even the walls had ears." It was true. She couldn't let him suffer on her account.

It was then that he slipped something on her finger.

"I'll keep my promise, you keep yours." Her mother's wedding wing. Madison's eyes began to tear up again as she looked at it. "It's so beautiful," she whispered. Just like the love she and her father had, just like the bond that they shared.

 **Eilidh le Blaca** – Second Round female 14.

"I wish you still had your eye," her brother bemoaned again. He'd been saying that for the last several years on and off, but moreso today.

"Che, I've got one good one. That'll make people underestimate me," Eilidh said. She was trying hard to keep her composure but it was so hard with her whole family there. So many good people in this room; what had they done to deserve this? Why had she gotten reaped? She knew she couldn't dissolve in self-pity; that would do her no good. Yet at the same time she could barely manage to speak.

Her parents and her older brothers all engulfed her in a group hug. That was actually better. Why speak when clinging to her family for what could be the last time seemed to be the most important thing in the world? She knew it was unlike her, and she wished she could find the right words, but for once, she was uncharacteristically speechless.

"This year is full of surprises," her brother Beckham whispered, his voice low. "Unfair second rounds, extra tributes, but everyone is going to be in for a big surprise when you come home."

He held out her hairbrush and everyone laughed. It certainly wasn't what most tributes would have picked as their token, but Beck somehow had known it's what Eilidh would want.

"Worst case scenario you might be able to hit somebody over the head with it," her father commented and for a brief moment, the levity that characterized their home returned. Hopefully soon it would return, along with her.

Eureka Eisen – Male First round tribute 17

"Everything is going according to plan!" Eurkea exclaimed. He was nervous, of course, but this was precisely where he had planned to be. Once he returned and sprung his father from prison he would thank the district that had nominated him. He would demonstrate his faith and generosity ten-fold.

"I always knew you would, Urie" his best friend, Oakley said. He put his hands on his shoulders. "I couldn't be more proud of you. You're risking a lot, you know."

"I know," Eureka replied. "But it's worth it. If you've been through what I have, it's worth it. When I walked to the stage, Oak, all I saw was my dad's face, my dad finally getting free. So many years in jail only catching glimpses of him through the bars, only stealing conversations when the guards aren't looking, I can barely even remember what he looks like when he's not caked in layers of dirt and grime. But I'm going to see that! I've got to believe."

"You're brave, Urie. Crazy, but brave. I'll be rooting you on. Is there anything you want? Anything you need?"

"I've got everything I need right here," he patted the tiny doll he still carried with him. Once in a while he got made fun of for carting a doll around, but he didn't care. In order to stay connected to his father he would risk a thousand insults or injuries. It was worth it, indeed.

Kye Nicolini – Male Tribute round 2 age 13

It wasn't fair!

He had no one to return to, no one who would come and see him.

Kye kicked the walls of the room in frustration. He'd been living on his own for years! Didn't that give him a free pass. "Hey kid, your parents are dead, you have no one to care for you, you get a pass on everything terrible." He couldn't believe it when he'd heard his name.

He kicked the wall again, drawing a look from a Peacekeeper. Let them keep an eye on him. He was too tired to run now, but he could still kick and bite. And he would. Kye was many things, and a survivor had always been chief among them.

"You can let me on the train now. No one is coming for me!" Kye called out. The Peacekeeper looming outside only turned his head. Ignoring him, typical. Everyone did. Everyone except the reaping bowl. Except the Capitol.

It was a moment later, when a second Peacekeeper passed by that he saw his chance. They were engaged in conversation and both of them were completely ignoring him. The perfect opportunity!

Small as he was, he slipped past the Peacekeeper and willed his legs to move one more time. To persevere to freedom one more time. It was his only chance.

He could almost see it! He was almost out of sight of the train when he felt a sharp pain in his leg and he went tumbling down. No! He couldn't be brought down by this. But he was. He felt sleep overcome his body. They must have tranqued him! No, it felt worse than that. Maybe he was dying now. Maybe that wouldn't be so bad. He saw a shadow in front of him, a shadow growing hazier with each second. With his last vision he reached out and punched the figure before him, hoping it wouldn't be his last act.

" _When the lights go out and we open our eyes,  
Out there in the silence, I'll be gone, I'll be gone" _


	11. D8 Reapings What Were You Expecting?

Disclaimer/ Author's Note: _Hi all, sorry I've been mia. With summer and everything I know it's taken a while. I'm trying to be done with the reapings (tedious, I know) by the end of the month. I still do not own the Hunger Games or anything associated with it._

District 8 Reapings _What Were You Expecting?_

 **Cassius Shadi District 8 Mentor**

Cassius was standing on the stage this year. It had been several years since he'd actually done that and he was ready to take people by surprise. Wolf would be completely thrown when he wasn't out in the audience spectating as he'd grown accustomed to. This year he would comply, at least to the best of his ability with what the Capitol was expecting. He was even here early, before the escorts, before the crowd, even before Wolfgang, who was famous for his punctuality.

That's what this year was about, though, throwing everyone for a loop. He knew for certain that hadn't ended last night with the votes in. Maybe everyone else in the districts was at ease, certain that was all the Capitol had planned for the twenty-fifth anniversary, but Cassius knew better. He was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

The escort, Emalia arrived and gave him a glance, keeping her distance. He smiled at her, knowing even that would put her off. Everyone besides Wolf kept him at arms' length, which never bothered him. That was the price he paid for being a bit eccentric. The price he paid for being a victor.

"What's the occasion?" Wolfgang asked when he finally arrived, about half an hour before the crowds.

"Oh, I just wanted to surprise you," Cassius joked and Wolfgang rolled his eyes in disbelief.

"Who did you vote for?" Wolfgang asked, trying to make small talk.

"Two of the campaigners. What about you?"

"Same," Wolf said. "It's strange getting to choose."

"Let's see how much choice we really have," Cassius observed as the crowds filed in.

Not one of them suspected; no one had put two and two together. There was no way that the Capitol would give them more freedom with the twenty-fifth anniversary. After all, that would be a step backwards. Cassius realized that not everyone saw the ability to vote as a blessing, but really it was. The Game Makers had given the districts a voice, a choice, a decision. There was no way that was the only trick they had up their sleeves, not this year. The sense of something else on the horizon was palpable, but only to Cassius.

"Welcome," Emalia's voice lofted over the audience without a care in the world. "As you know, the adults of your district had the high responsibility yesterday of electing two tributes of the eligible age to participate in the Hunger Games this year. By popular vote, the winner of this honor for the ladies is Vienna Camlet."

Cassius wasn't surprised when the name was called and, clearly, neither was she. A skinny, dark skinned girl emerged from the seventeen-year-old section emerged, rolling her eyes. She tried to look dignified in her baggy, worn clothing and, at least there were no tears.

"For the boys, Gideon Avelard."

A dark haired, tan boy came forward from the sixteen-year old section, with a bit of a spring in his stride. There was a hint of a smile on the boy's face, which caused the girl already standing onstage to roll her eyes again, but Cassius couldn't help but smirk. That was the boy he had voted for yesterday. He'd been a campaigner, well, sort of.

Once he was onstage, Gideon extended his hand to Vienna. Though she looked like she would rather kiss a frog, she took it in order to make herself not look like a poor sport.

"Now, I thank you for your patience, all, but please do not leave yet." This was it, the other shoe. Cassius scanned the crowd, which was clearly impatient to leave, but held hostage by her words if not by the Peacekeepers. The faces became gradually angrier as Emalia continued talking. "In honor of these two tributes and those who have gone before them, we will hold a second reaping. Surely it would be wrong of us to only allow the districts to vote and not have a reaping. So this year, we will engage in a second round and all four tributes will be escorted to the Capitol. There will be no volunteers for this round."

Even as she spoke angry yells arose from the population. Seeing they weren't going to die down anytime soon, Emalia drew out the Reaping bowl.

"As usual, ladies first," Emalia drew a name from the bowl. "Our second young lady is Ryleigh Grenora."

All of a sudden, a small, dark haired girl from the twelve-year-old section took off. She sprinted in the opposite direction of the stage, tears of confusion and fear streaming down her face. She almost made it to the gates, but the Peacekeepers caught her. Among screams and her arms waving frantically, the Peacekeepers brought her by force to the stage, one of them slinging her over his shoulder.

Eager to get this over with, Emalia continued, "For the boys, Ichabod Gibbons."

Another young child, this time the boy came from the fourteen-year-old section. But this boy had more sense than to run, and was certainly a good actor. In an instant, his face went from impassivity to a brief second of fear, to a smile as he made his way to the stage. Cassius could almost read his thoughts frantically running behind his eyes, but to anyone less perceptive his confidence would have come across as well as it could. He even waved back to the crowd as he settled in. It looked like he was waving to a group of children not in the reaping section, but who looked very upset.

"This is ridiculous!" A scream came from the crowd, from around the section towards which Ichabod was waving. Many other yells followed that one and a tomato was hurled at the stage. Forgoing the final handshakes, the group was escorted to the Justice Building to bid their families farewell.

"Well, what were you expecting?"

 **Vienna Camlet District 8 Female First Round**

"This is what I get," Vienna moped. Here in the corner of the Justice Building was the only place she would be able to be pissed off, to be able to feel sorry for herself. She didn't really, but it wasn't fair.

"When I come back I'm going to find every person he convinced to vote for me and make them pay for it," she threatened.

"Don't you hurt my business," Georgia reprimanded. "If you get back you'll have it made for the rest of your life, but there are still the rest of us who have to make it in the day to day."

Vienna didn't even bother to respond to that. She couldn't afford to. Georgia, her boss, her friend, sort of, was undoubtedly the only person who would come to visit her and she couldn't afford to alienate her only friend, her only visitor. Her mother, if she had been alive, surely would have come, but a ghost was miserable company. No, Georgia might be the only real connection she would have for weeks, or for the rest of her life. Vienna simply sighed.

"I'm sorry this happened to you, girl. It's going to be lonely without you," Georgia said, her voice uncharacteristically soft. Usually she was hollering at her to take the next man, reminding her not to piss him off. Her soft voice was reserved for her clientele, especially the higher paying ones.

"That's what I get for pissing off a victor's brother." Vienna said again. If she had known that Drex was Wolfgang's brother she would have watched her tongue, rather than making jokes about telling his wife. Of course she never really would have told, it would have put them all in peril, but Drex had apparently not been in a joking mood.

"At least Wolf's not the type to hold it against you. He's as fair as he can be," Georgia tried to stay positive.

"That's not possible. Nothing is impartial and you know it. I'm making a bid for Cassius as a mentor."

"Good luck with that one," Georgia said. "I'll be rooting for you, girl."

 **Ryleigh Grenora Age 12 Female Tribute Second Round**

"I can't believe it," Carol growled, punching her fist against the wall as Ryleigh tried to calm herself. "It was supposed to be over. Why are they doing this?"

"Carol, they're the Capitol. They do what they want," Ryleigh's father consoled her as he held Ryleigh's hand. Carol was pacing around. It should have bothered Ryleigh, that her sister was over reacting. If it had been a normal year, yes she could have volunteered for her, but that didn't matter now. The reasons behind the reaping, behind her being here didn't matter at all.

"It's okay," Ryleigh tried to comfort all of them. She might as well try to put a brave face on now, despite the tears running down her face. She had basically ruined any reputation she might have had with that stunt and everyone knew it. Her parents, Carol, her brother, everyone. Hopefully she wouldn't be the only one who ran away at the reapings. After all, what was she supposed to do? There had been people screaming, so much chaos, she just wanted to be out of the insanity.

"Ryleigh, I'm so sorry," her mother crooned over her, her tears falling freely.

"You're going to come home," Edwin, her nine-year-old brother insisted with a fervor in his voice that no one had the heart to discourage. Ryleigh looked at him and smiled. He was almost as tall as she was now, and she could look him straight in the eyes.

"If I come back, you'll be taller than me," she managed. Finally, Carol came back for a group hug. One last hug before she went towards the unknown.

 **Ichabod Gibbons Age 14 Male Tribute Second Round**

"I'm sure it won't be so bad," Ichabod managed, still smiling. It was hard with all of his family, including his grandparents, processing in and out of the room in groups. The Peacekeepers wouldn't let them all in together because there were so many of them, nine siblings, two parents and two grandparents, but they didn't have time to do one-on-ones.

Right now he was in the room with his siblings, all of them. His grandparents would come in next and then, finally his parents.

Ichabod tugged at the edge of his shirt, or rather, his older brother, Alex's shirt. It was just a tad too big for him, something his mother promised he would grow into, but it was the best they could do. He hadn't thought he would have to be in front of all of Panem today, not with the voting, but he was certainly going to make the best of it.

For once none of his siblings spoke. None of them knew what to say. Not the oldest, just out of Reaping age, or Angelica who always knew what to say. This was, he supposed, his time to make sure they were all as optimistic as they could be.

"I hear they let the tributes eat all the food they can, and that it's really good." Ichabod smiled. His youngest brother, John, held onto his leg.

"Will you wave to us when you go?" he asked, innocently. At the age of three he couldn't really be expected to have any idea what was going on. After all, how do you explain to someone that age that his brother might not be coming back. Ichabod decided not to.

"I will," was his only answer.

 **Gideon Avelard Male Tribute Round 1 Age 16**

They had managed to cram all of Gideon's family in the room. His parents sat with the two youngest children, Melanie and Clive. Rebekah stood in a strategic position by the door. Esther stood right beside Gideon, keeping her eye on Reuben who sat at her feet. Edwin stood beside his parents, lending an extra hand in case anyone got out of hand. Even Chelsea, who had moved out last year was there.

"I hope you're ready and have a plan for this," Esther commented.

"It's just fate, Esther," Gideon encouraged her and his parents. Most of them would believe him. After all, it was. He may have told his friends that he wouldn't mind if their parents voted for him. After all, everyone had to vote for someone and it might as well be him, rather than someone else. He hadn't known until right when the called his name that his plan had been successful. He was trying to stay composed for the sake of his family, but he was really quite pleased with himself. If nothing else, he had saved someone else from being put into the Games. After all, if he hadn't started his little informal campaign, his name never might have ended up being called and some unfortunate other person's name would certainly have been called.

"Do you need anything?" his mother asked, helpfully. "We brought one of those old hats, an orange peel, a rock . . ." she was fumbling.

"I brought a book," Rebekah offered.

"I brought a frog," his little sister, Melanie, offered, shyly.

"I brought a pen," Esther offered.

That was the response Gideon had been waiting for, and he had known it all along.

"I'll take the pen," Gideon declared. "Thank you. It'll remind me that I'm writing my own story now."

"I thought fate was," Rebekah muttered, but Gideon heard her.

"You could totally stab someone with that!" Reuben smirked. Gideon rolled his eyes.

"Thank you all for being a part of this story," he said, in farewell.

 _What were you expecting?  
Another lullaby?  
Are you kidding?_


	12. District Nine Reapings Times of Trouble

Disclaimer: I still do not own the Hunger Games. Also, I think I forgot to thank the submitters for District 8 (sorry). So in my previous chapter, thanks to Finnick17 for Vienna, Elim9 for Gideon, where-the-stars-fall-softly for Ryleigh, and FlyingSpaghettiLover for Ichabod. Sorry for my belated thanks. This chapter thank you to jadediamond22 for Miley, Cup of Tea Green for Rome, Curcio Hime for Helaine and The Millenium Falcon for Raphael. Your patience is much appreciated. I am hoping to be to the Games by the end of October at the latest.

Times of trouble District 9

Haspereek Cloven – District Nine Mentor

"Couldn't sleep last night?" Haspereek asked. She and Rolath had barely spoken this whole past week, but she knew the voting, the reaping, the whole affair of the games was weighing on him just as much, if not more than it was on her. There were bags under his eyes and it looked as though he hadn't slept in days. He just shrugged.

"We'll live," he replied. They were both onstage, looking as best they could. The sun was shining and they couldn't have asked for a better day, a better troubled, bittersweet day. Haspereek managed a smile.

There were a couple of early birds trickling in, though Haspereek couldn't imagine why anyone would want to get here early. It wasn't as though they could curry favor, especially not this year.

She considered asking Rolath who he voted for, but she knew he wouldn't want to say and she didn't want to answer if he asked her back and turnabout would certainly be fair play.

She was planning on just standing there watching and waiting, like a grim reaper ready for the slaughter. The escort, Marilyn, had other plans, though.

"Haspereek," she hissed from backstage. Rolath looked up at the sound, but didn't follow when Haspereek followed toward Marilyn's gesture.

"What is it?" she asked. The escort's face looked worried. "Has something gone wrong with the voting? We can help explain it. It's understandable, after all, being the first year we've done this."

"It's not that," Marilyn silenced her. "There's something else. The other districts aren't taking it too well, it seems and we need to see if we can keep the calm in nine."

"What do you mean? Taking what too well, the voting?"

"Again, Haspereek, not that." Marilyn paused. Rolath, seemingly having gotten bored standing on the stage all by himself, had wandered over to him. She seemed as though she wanted him to leave, but either this was too urgent or she didn't have the heart to shun him.

"There's another addition to the games, another twist. There will be more tributes, this year." Haspereek let that sink in for a moment, watching Rolath's face.

"Why?" she whispered, as though there was something more unjust about the sheer quantity of children being sent like lambs to the slaughter.

"Haspereek, after last year you're asking why? After a tribute commits suicide?"

"That was in district one. Take it out on them, not us."

"The decision has been made," Marilyn said, her eyes betraying fear. "It seems district eight at least got a little out of hand. While they can't announce anything before, since they want it to be a surprise, they wanted you to make the speech welcoming everyone, warm people up a little."

"They want you to take the fall," Rolath said.

"No, no, your district loves you. You were their first victor and are an excellent peacemaker. Haspereek, please, if anyone can keep the people calm it's you." Haspereek sighed. The sound of the crowd's feet was growing in volume. She knew more and more frightened children, two of which she chose by name, were coming to stare at whoever would be fighting in that arena, whoever would be just like her.

"I'll do it," Haspereek agreed. "To keep the peace, I'll do it. But promise me, nothing unnecessary happens. No bloodshed. Everything is peaceful."

Marilyn nodded, even though Haspereek wasn't sure how much she could believe her. Even she knew the Capitol couldn't be trusted.

 **Rolath Dornel District 8 Mentor**

She looked so composed as she took the microphone. Their district wasn't foolish. Anyone in the crowd would know that something was out of the ordinary as Haspereek stood on the stage. It wouldn't be the tone of voice or the look on her face that betrayed that, though, only the breech in ceremony. Hopefully everyone would pass it off as a tribute to twenty-five years of the Games. Even if they didn't, even if they got suspicious their suspcions would be confirmed shortly.

"Twenty five years have given us much to be grateful for. We have had many brave triibutes represent our district, many who have excelled and all who have brought us great honor. Rolath and I are both so grateful for the support we have received from our district and from the Capitol. We couldn't be prouder or more humbled to be standing before you this day in celebration. Yes, my brothers and sisters. And this year, the twenty-fifth year of these glorious games, we have been given a new opportunity, an opportunity for choice. So without further ado, I will hand the microphone back to our dear escort, Marilyn Sconce."

"Thank you for the lovely introduction, my dearest Haspereek," Marilyn gushed as she stepped forward. Haspereek was trying to hide the relief on her face as she rejoined Rolath. He put his arm briefly around her in a one-armed embrace. They were friends, surely he could do that without the district analyzing his every move and assuming that something was wrong. He forced a smile as Marilyn announced the first name.

"For the ladies, our tribute who has been voted in is Miley Adela."

There was no movement in the crowd, as though the girl hadn't heard. Slowly the seventeen-year-old section began to force a gorgeous girl forward. She was barely moving. No, in fact she wasn't moving. The only thing that was in motion was her dark hair being whipped around her face. She stared straight ahead, not at him or Haspereek or even Marilyn, but straight at where the Mayor's chair was. Rolath looked back at the Mayor and saw an odd look on his face. A grin. What was this? Rolath had tried to stay out of the politics of who was getting voted in as much as he could, but there seemed to be something deeper going on here.

The girl's breathing was ragged now, as though she were racked with terror. Well, it wasn't surprising, given what she was going to, but she had to come forward. Without another look back, Rolath stepped off of the stage and strode, faster than the Peacekeepers to the girl.

"I'm sorry," he said, taking her hand and ushering her, certainly more gently than the Peacekeepers intended to towards the stage.

Marilyn cleared her throat, clearly disapproving of this act of charity. Rolath didn't care. There was enough cruelty in the Games, in what they were planning, in all of Panem, really, to fill the world with evil for a lifetime. If he could provide a little caring compassion to someone who so desperately needed it, then he would take the reproaches from her, the glares from the crowd and whatever was in store. He had never felt quite so certain of anything in his life as he felt in that moment, being stared at by the crowd as he held the girl's trembling hand.

He wouldn't say it was all right. He couldn't say anything to calm her, couldn't bring himself to lie, but he did stand there, enduring the glares and glances.

"For the boys, Rome Maren."

"What?" A confused voice from the sixteen-year-old boy's section arose and a boy looked around, as though he was expecting to see a duplicate, a twin or someone playing a prank on him. "How did . . ." he cut himself off. "Oh shoot, you all . .. . you thought I was serious." He smirked, trying to play the whole thing off. He took a step towards the stage. "Well, okay, I guess I am." He managed a smile as he took the stage, almost tripping over the girl.

"Sorry," he muttered, extending a hand to her, whether this was for her comfort or to steady himself Rolath wasn't sure. He took a deep breath as Marilyn continued, just as he knew she would. He wasn't fooled.

"In addition to these two brave draftees, two of your own, more tributes standing here will be selected by a reaping to join them. There will be no volunteers, so please come of your own free will and be brave. Remember, this is an honor." There were no screams, no jeers, not yet at least. Maybe Haspereek's words had helped after all. Rolath breathed, only hoping that the remainder of the day would go as well.

"For the ladies, Helaine Curso."

There was a pause. Of course there was. There needed to be time for the tributes to catch up. There had never been two reapings at once.

The Peacekeepers didn't want time, though. They wanted everything neat and tidy. Just as the Peacekeepers began stomping in her direction a girl emerged from the fifteen-year-old section. She took one step forward with her eyes closed and then opened them, placing one foot firmly in front of the other.

"Alright, alright. Calm down, woman. Helaine is here," she strutted out, confidence in her stride. She looked down at everyone she passed with distain in her eyes, including the girl standing beside Rolath. She stood tall on the stage, daring anyone to challenge her bravery.

"For the boys, Raphael Morando," Marilyn announced.

The sixteen-year-old section split this time and a skinny, tan boy emerged from the crowd, slowly. Step by step he managed to come forward, but clearly with great effort. He made no show of hiding that he was shaking like a leaf. He had a kind face, Rolath could tell. There were some murmurs in the crowd and he had a moment of fear himself, that if the tributes showed any indication that they themselves thought this whole affair to be unfair then it could be the end of the Peace. There might be a riot in nine. There hadn't been a riot since before he could remember, scarcely since the rebellion. They were peaceful, not like the hotheads that the Capitol feared so much.

But there would be no rioting. Raphael extended his hand, first to Helaine, the girl who had been reaped with him in the second round and then to Rome, who still seemed confused to be there. He almost got his shaking arm ripped from his socket as the other boy didn't seem to know his own strength or enthusiasm. Last, but not least, he shook hands with the first girl, Miley. It seemed to him that Marilyn breathed a sigh of relief. No, this would be peaceful. It might not be pleasant, but it would surely be peaceful.

 **Raphael Morando – District Nine Second Round Male Tribute** :

He could barely force himself to look into her eyes. Raphael hadn't cried when he had been reaped, but this was going to be the hardest part. When he was reaped he had been in shock. Now feeling was returning and reality was setting in, the reality that he would be leaving all of this, his home, his work, his family and might never return.

The little eyes looking up at him from just below his knee did it all. His niece, Maria, at age two was far too young to understand. Raphael almost wished his brother hadn't brought her, but when he thought about it, it was for the best. It would give him something to hold onto and it wasn't as though anything violent was going to happen here, in this small room, the small bit of humanity that he would be left with on his way to the Capitol.

No, it was after he left that everything he would want to shield his niece from would come, the killing, the fighting, the battle for survival, apparently against 47 other tributes, other children his age.

"She won't remember me if I don't make it out of this," Raphael realized all of a sudden. It was the last thought that he wanted to be in his mind right now. He wished he could will out everything negative and soak in only the positive energy of this moment, the vibes that his brother, his pregnant sister-in-law and his parents were all directing at him, the belief that he would come home, that somehow, miraculously, despite his nature and all odds against him, that he would be the one in forty-eight who was able to survive, to become a monster and return.

He couldn't do it, though. Not with a face as innocent as hers staring at him. He couldn't think of killing, of what he would have to do in order to get out.

"Raffy, we love you. We're not going to let her watch the Games, if that's what you're worried about. You do what you have to do." His mother encouraged. His brother, Anthony, nodded his agreement.

"Uncle Raffy, up," Maria demanded and Raphael, of course, obliged. He hugged her tightly as his sister-in-law held out something to his hand.

"It's your district token, if you'll have it," she explained. Raphael looked down at the soft object in his hand. It was a small sock that Maria had just outgrown, hand knit by his mother.

"Of course I will," was all Raphael could manage as tears welled in his eyes. He brushed them away as Maria looked away.

 **Miley Adela First Round Female Tribute**

Miley was startled by the knock on the door. Was that the Mayor? Judas? Had they come to beat her or rape her one last time? She still had nightmares of everything they had done and this was just the icing on the cake.

Before Miley could respond the door barged open. To her relief it was neither of the above, but Simon, the kind butcher that had taken her in.

"You don't want to be seen with me," she said, refusing to leave her corner. The male victor Rolath she thought his name was, had left her there, walking her in because she had been shaking too much to be able to support herself.

"They can't do anything to me," Simon protested. "Are you okay?"

"No," Miley said simply. She hadn't really been okay in years, but Simon knew that. He knew about the nightmares; he knew she woke in the middle of the night screaming when she was jolted from memories of Judas or of her mother's death. And now, now this. How could someone like her even have a chance in the Games? What a sick joke her district had played on her!

"I'm so sorry," Simon said. The look on his face told her just how hollow he knew his words sounded, how powerless he was. "If I could stop this I would."

"No one can stop him, can stop them." Miley knew it was true. Those in power stayed in power and the powerless couldn't do anything about it, not even when they were given the opportunity.

"Don't give up." Simon encouraged, taking her hands. "Remember, I taught you everything I know. You can be a butcher. You have what it takes to survive." She looked at him in disbelief, but she didn't see that reflected in his eyes. There was only faith, somehow blind faith. This was something she hadn't seen, ever, not even in her mother's eyes. Her mother had only ever done what she needed to do to survive, never anything exceptional or that required faith.

"You really think I can do this?" she whispered. Simon nodded.

"I wish I had something I could give you," Simon replied. She knew he didn't. Even the life of a butcher wasn't a rich or privileged one. As he heard the guard open the door he kissed her gently on the forehead.

"Be brave," he whispered, and stood, leaving before he was ordered to, and leaving Miley to wonder if she was everything he seemed to believe her to be.

 **Rome Maren – District 9 Second Round Tribute**

"How did this even happen!" Rome's mother, Stephanie, shrieked. Rome was certain all three of the other tributes could hear her. The entire district might be able to, maybe all the way out to the Capitol. "For goodness sakes, Rome, I work for the Mayor. He could pull strings, just the way he did to get that girl in here. How did this happen?"

She tapped her foot.

"So, you know, this could be a good thing. Honestly, mother, if you had any confidence in me at all, right now you would be pampering me and building up my ego to tell me how exactly I could take on each and every single one of those tributes, especially the ones from one and two and how you'll be seeing me in just a few short weeks. Can I hear a little bit of that, please, rather than this nagging?"

"Son, your mother has a point," his father retorted. He had his book in one hand, but had gracefully closed it to say goodbye to his son. "I myself am curious as well to what would have made you a target."

"You mean that wasn't a topic of conversation at the poll booths yesterday?" Rome inquired.

"You ought to know that no conversation was supposed to happen as to who was voting for whom."

"But campaigning was allowed, even encouraged."

"You campaigned!" Again, his mother's voice could have woken the dead. Rome almost wanted to say yes, just hoping she would storm out of the room, but the more sensible part of him won out and told her the truth.

"I may have gotten a bit tipsy and said some things I didn't mean."

"Some things?"

"I may have told the whole town they could vote for me. Okay, bye, I'll see you in a couple of weeks," he started to usher his parents to the door.

"Rome Emerson Maren!" His mother exclaimed, turning on him.

"Mom, I know it's hard, but whatever happens, be happy, okay? I want that for you," Rome insisted, putting a brave face on as he saw what could be the last of his parents shut behind the doors of the Justice Building.

 **Helaine Kurso Second Round Female Tribute**

"Mama, I'm sorry," Helaine said as her mother, Yves hugged her. "That's all I could think when I was walking forward, my mama's gonna be alone. She's not gonna have her girl with her."

"Hey, hey, there wasn't anything you could have done," Yves soothed her. "You just work hard and I'll see you again."

The confidence that was always there in her mother's voice didn't fail her now. Even in this moment, it brought a smile to Helaine's face, a smile that was all too hard to come by. Her mother, her rock, the one person who stuck by her side through her father leaving, through the times when it had been hard to make rent, the mother she had written poems for, the mother she loved. This was the reason she'd have to make it back. She squeezed her mother's hand, denying the tears that were threatening to fall. They had no control over her. She was in control of her destiny, no matter what the Gamemakers or the Capitol thought. She just had to look at her mother to see it.

Her mother, the most stubborn, most powerful person in her world, believed in her. She didn't need to have the Capitol standing in support of her as long as she had that.

"They're gonna get hell brought to them," Helaine nodded.

"Here, take this," her mother instructed, holding out a journal, one of the ones she had splurged on for Helaine when she was writing poems. She nodded in encouragement. Yes, this was her token. This would be perfect. She was going into the fray. She nodded and her mother left the room.

"I'll see you soon," they said in unison as the door closed.

" _When I find myself in times of trouble, mother Mary comes to me, speaking words of wisdom, let it be."_


	13. Take My Place D10 Reapings

Take My Place

District 10 Reapings

 _Disclaimer: I do apologize that this is dragging on so long. This will get finished, but it might take a while, so bear with me. Life comes up and, speaking 100% plainly, this story is not my top priority right now. Work and the people that I care about come first and I will not apologize for that. That said, I fully intend to make sure this story gets completed. Even if it is at the speed of George R.R. Martin. That said, I do not own the Hunger Games._

 _Thank you to_ Aosta Rathlin Age: 15 (Wannabe Mischief) Tyson Brindle Age: 17 (Elim9) Olivia Summers Age: 12 (S.M.M. 2002) Alaric Skinner Age: 18 (where-the-stars-fall-softly)

Steric didn't need to wake up to make it to the stage. She was already there. She knew she didn't want to wake up as normal in her bed and have to rush here, so she had saved herself the trouble. She and her flask of rum had been sitting on the stage by themselves all night. Now she saw the sun rising.

"How appropriate," she scoffed to no one in particular. "The sun is blood red." She took another swig and didn't feel it. She knew her limits, knew just how in control she had to be for the Reapings, just how much she could tolerate before actually taking on the Escort and the Peacekeepers like she wanted to. Steric knew just enough to keep herself in check. Just enough to keep her sane. It's how she'd made it through all those years of the Games. It was the only way she could live with herself.

It would still be several hours before anyone else was here, but Steric had already discovered something, something the Capitol, no doubt wanted to be kept secret. Hidden behind the podium precisely poised were two Reaping bowls. If the district had indeed selected only two tributes there would be no need of these bowls, no need for further bloodshed. But there was always a need. The Capitol had an insatiable thirst for blood. That would never change

"You're here early," the escort, Nora Shade commented hours later when she arrived on the scene. At that Steric finally stood and gave Nora a forced smile. No one could manage a real smile today, but she would fake, and with that fake smile imbue all of the venom she wished she had in her system. They would pay. One day they would surely pay. But she would have to be patient, for that day had not yet arrived.

"You know I didn't vote," Steric stated defiantly. "I didn't want to, so I didn't." She took another swig of rum from her ever draining glass and looked defiantly at Nora, as though she represented everything that was wrong with the system. In a sense, she did, because she was just a pawn, but, even then, Steric knew that she was only following orders, much like she was when she mentored.

"Don't say that so loud," Nora hushed her. "I won't do anything. You should know that, but the Capitol. They won't hesitate to take it out on you, even though you're a victor. Not this year."

"I know. Let them try," Steric hissed defiantly and stood stoically staring into the sun.

At long last the crowd trickled in. Little by little. They all looked so assured, like there was no chance that it would be them. They were fools.

Steric had never felt so calm about a Reaping. Instead of cutting it close like she usually did, she had arrived punctually, drawing confused looks from the escorts and everyone else in the district. Nora Bard, the escort even looked at her in admiration as she took her spot on the stage.

"What's the occasion?" she asked, playfully and Steric managed a smile. At least this year they had some control. At least, for the first time in years, the people in District Ten knew what to expect.

Twenty-five years they had doing this. Countless families affected by the terror of the Capitol. Steric couldn't help but feel there was a change in this. Not only with the Quell, but also with the change in the districts, in the conversations that had been happening with the voting. It had opened a dialogue. It was a terrible dialogue to be sure. Children should never have to consider campaigning, for whatever reason, for a fight to the death. The Capitol had, without knowing it, ignited a spark. Steric had a feeling they might not like where that spark led.

After so many years, she no longer felt fear or anxiety as the hordes of children rushed in. She felt as though she should feel a protective instinct, to reach out and protect them as she had so many years ago at her own reaping when she had volunteered. Her practical side had prevailed, though. She knew she would do what she could, but today none of this was in her control. She had had her say yesterday during the voting. Today was all about what was unfolding in front of her.

She looked to her side as Nora began the introductions. There was a look on her face that made Steric wonder, just for a split second, whether something darker was in store, something even she, with her experienced eyes couldn't have expected. Of course there was, she knew, and she settled herself back into a passive expression. Yet she felt a twinge of fight re-surging in her, something she hadn't felt in a very long time.

"Welcome to the first Quarter Quell," Nora addressed the crowd. She went into an even more long-winded history than usual, displaying the traditional video, saying the same words over and over. She was stalling. Steric could see it in the way she praised her victory years ago, re-hashing her games so vividly that she became convinced that the escort had watched them directly before the Reapings. There was something coming up that Nora didn't want to do. But no amount of words could prevent what was predetermined.

"As you know, yesterday the people of your district selected two tributes for the distinguished honor of entering The Hunger Games. As usual, these two tributes, a male and female, will have their names called." She was nervously playing with the Reaping bowl, but there was no reason for that. Nora already had the paper in her hand. Just get it over with, Steric thought.

"For the girls, Aosta Rathlin." A girl from the 15-year-old section timidly stepped forward. She wore a pale green dress and her long brown hair just hit her collar. She stood around 5'5" and, as she forced herself towards the stage, it seemed she had the same thought that Steric did: why had she been chosen.

"As I mentioned earlier," Nora's voice resounded, "there will be no volunteers this year." Her voice sounded decidedly reluctant, as though she herself hated making that announcement. Maybe it was because the next choice didn't seem any better.

"For the boys, Tyson Brindle," she announced.

Steric sighed as a boy from the 17-year-old section walked forward, completely dazed. She recognized this boy. No, it wasn't the boy who had nearly knifed her when she threatened him not to campaign. This boy wasn't that stupid. He'd been going around the district the last couple of weeks becoming more and more bold with his actions, anything that involved difficult labor. Steric had been worried that he'd been campaigning, but just the opposite. And now, clearly it had backfired.

He certainly wasn't someone that Steric would have picked if she had voted. He was stocky and around 5' 4", shorter than the girl and just as ill-suited to the Games, Steric knew as the two shook hands.

"Please do not go anywhere," Nora's voice pierced the crowd, hesitantly. In celebration of the Quarter Quell, and as retribution for the acts of some, the Capitol has deemed it necessary to add a Reaping to these elections. For these selections there will not be any volunteers either. First, the ladies."

She drew a name from one of the bowls, her hands trembling.

"For the girls, Olivia Summers.

Steric sighed as the twelve-year-old section parted. This time a girl in the () twelve year old section emerged hesitantly. Some of it was probably shock from there being a second reaping, some of it probably hoping it wasn't true. Steric sighed in frustration as the girl made it to the stage, her pale skin even paler than usual as her brown hair waved in the wind. She looked up at her district partners with her brown eyes wide, wondering what would come next.

Finally Nora got up the courage to announce the boys "The second male tribute will be Alaric Skinner."

This time was a little more merciful as a boy emerged from the eighteen year old section. As fate would have it, the second round seemed as though it would be more merciful than the first as a muscular boy emerged and made it towards the stage. He was blonde haired and tall and his blue eyes betrayed none of the terror that shown in the girl's. He did look back once at the girls' section, as though there was someone over there he meant to protect. Once he got to the stage he shook hands with his district partners, putting his hand on his fellow second rounder's shoulder.

"Ladies and gentlemen, your tributes for the twenty-fifth Hunger Games," Nora announced, her voice catching. It was Steric who had to step in and usher the tributes to the Justice Building. She took a deep breath. This only got harder and harder. At some point, she knew something would have to give.

Alaric Skinner:

"Are you okay?" Alaric asked as Violet held him tight. He knew it was a foolish question, but it was his responsibility in these last moments to make her feel as safe as he could. She was losing her refuge, her stronghold, so these last few moments were for her.

It worried him that she didn't answer. She was usually so vocal, even when times were tough. He lowered himself to her level and looked into her eyes. He saw the adoration there, but also the terror, the terror that had filled her nights recently. He didn't want to add to that fear, but the Games had left him no choice.

"Violet, I'm going to come back. Just two or three weeks you have to make it and I'll be back to protect you. Just stay in the house."

"Okay," his sister agreed. She was brave. She always had been. He knew if those boys tried to mess with her again, even if he wasn't there, she would hide in the house, she would tell her parents, she would do whatever she had to do, at least that's what he had to tell himself. He couldn't dwell on how he had come across them just far enough away from the house where they thought they wouldn't be found just about to do who knows what. He wouldn't think about the dreams that Violet still had about what they had tried to do. He wouldn't think about what could have happened if he hadn't been there and beaten those boys to a pulp. He wouldn't think about it because he would ensure it wouldn't happen.

"I love you," he said," hugging her tightly to his chest and fighting the tears that threatened his eyes. They had already brimmed over in Violet's and he had to stay strong for her.

"I love you too," she replied as the door opened. She bravely wiped her eyes and was gone.

Olivia Summers:

She stared at her parents' faces, terrified the memory would evaporate in the next several weeks. This is why she had to be strong, this is what had to keep her going.

Her mother couldn't even look at her. The memory of her sister's death from pneumonia all those years ago still haunted her. How could she think of her only daughter being sent to the Games?

Olivia tried to be strong, but she couldn't. The tears came.

"I don't want to go," she whispered. She knew she was defenseless in the matter, that she could do nothing. She was going to the Capitol, to the Hunger Games. Everything was fixed and it was impossible to change. Her anger, her fear, her arguments that her parents needed her, that they couldn't take another heartbreak, all of them were futile.

"Here," her father extended his hand. Something soft and comforting touched hers. It was something she desparately needed and the tears continued to fall at the touch.

"You can take it into the arena. It shows how innocent you are. Play that up and maybe . . ." her father's voice trailed off in hope, in fear. "You will come back," he finished, stronger, more confidently, as though it were he himself going into the arena.

Olivia cradled the lamb's wool tightly in her hand, clutching it as though her very life depended upon it.

Her father hugged her tightly, and in his arms, Olivia seemed to sense a fury, a fight, something she had never sensed in him before.

Aosta Rathlin:

"It shouldn't have been me," Aosta growled. Her fury was in full force. Her parents had already left the room, her mother in tears. Of her five other family members, the only one left was her younger brother, Hal. At thirteen, he was just old enough to deal with what was going on, to truly understand, because he himself had been at risk. Her other siblings were too young, too stupid to understand the risks that she took just by growing up. It was a stupid way to run a society, but some president in his high tower had deemed it to be completely necessary and now all of the population was subject to his will.

"It's definitely the short end of the stick." Hal agreed. "Maybe you did do something, like mom said." Aosta scoffed.

"Then everyone is just as daft as we thought. So if I do win. I come back and I exact vengeance on everyone who voted me in. Do they really think I won't?"

That's where anyone else would have backed away, would have shut up or gotten out. Not Hal. He was just stupid enough, just stubborn or thick skinned enough to keep up with her. That's the real reason he was her favorite sibling.

He only hesitated a split second before asking his next question.

"If the worst happens, is there anything that you want?"

"It's not going to happen," Aosta hissed bluntly, her fury hiding just behind her eyes. "It's not, it's not." She knew she sounded like a spoiled child, but this was supposed to be a moment of encouragement, one last moment with someone who believed in her unconditionally and her brother wasn't giving her that.

"Of course it won't," Hal stepped back, his eyes firm. "I'll see you soon." He was succumbing to her will for once, taking Aosta aback. "Here's your necklace. It's fit for a victor," he stated as he held out her favorite necklace with two gold leaves enameled on it. He'd gotten it for her for her birthday last year. He placed it in her hand and, before she could say another word, vanished.

Tyson Brindle – 17 District 10 Male Tribute round 1

He still couldn't quite believe what had happened. Tyson stared at his parents in disbelief, trying to be brave. He had worked so hard to not be in the Games only to have this all blow up in his face.

His older sister Aster was hugging him tightly, not in a babyish way, but in a way that comforted him. It made it almost bearable to think about what was about to happen; so much so Tyson could almost feel his sense of humor returning.

Almost. There was a look on his brother's face that Tyson almost didn't recognize. His brother, only a year older than Tyson, had always been the opposite of Tyson in temperament, a loose cannon, as it were. But now he wore an expression Tyson didn't recognize. His eyes seemed furious, yet there was something else behind them.

"Listen," Triston said. "I've been impressed with how hard you've been working the last couple of months. You're going to need to keep it up in the Games. I know you can, though. I mean, our whole district knows."

"Triston, that's enough, maybe it's just best to be silent right now," Deanna, their mother said.

"Tyson, look what I got you," Aster said revealing a headband signed by the whole family. "We're all with you and all wishing you the best."

"Wait," Tyson asked. "What do you mean the whole district knows?"

"Well, son," his father, Weston continued, "it means that we all have faith you'll do well. That's why you've taken on so much responsibility, to prepare for this. And them voting you in is their vote of confidence that next year you'll stand next to Steric as a victor."

"Wait, what do you mean the responsibility I've taken on. Preparing for this?" Tyson exclaimed. It seemed as though something was beginning to fall into place. He looked at Nelson, not wanting to believe it.

"You told me if I was lazy I'd get voted in," Tyson's voice broke. "I thought I did everything right! Are you saying . . ."

"Allright, folks, time's up," a voice said from the doorway. Aster embraced him on more time and handed him her headband. Nelson, though, wouldn't even meet his gaze as he left and Tyson's eyes filled with tears.

" _So lately, been wondering  
Who will be there to take my place  
When I'm gone you'll need love to light the shadows on your face"_


End file.
